


Rite of Passage

by silverchitauri



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Anxiety, Artist Steve Rogers, Ass-Kicking, Assassin Bucky Barnes, Avengers Tower, Avocados at Law, Awesome May Parker, BAMF Michelle Jones, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Tony Stark, Blind Character, Blood and Injury, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bullying, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Chest Binding, Civil War Fix-It, Claire Temple is So Done, Clint Barton & Sam Wilson Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Coding, Coming Out, Cussing, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Decathlon, Domestic Avengers, Drabble, Embarrassed Peter Parker, Embarrassment, F/M, Field Trip, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genius Peter Parker, Healing, Hiding in Plain Sight, Internalized Transphobia, Interns & Internships, IronDad and SpiderSon, Karma - Freeform, M/M, Martial Arts, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Meme Lord Shuri, Milano - Freeform, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha takes no shit, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Parent Tony Stark, Patrolling, Peter Parker & Shuri Friendship, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Prankster avengers, Revenge, Science Bros, Secret Identity, Security Clearance, Sign Language, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, TKO, Tags May Change, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Team teasing Peter, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Avengers won’t give Peter a break, There's A Tag For That, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Training, Trans Character, Trans Peter Parker, Transitioning, Wanda Maximoff is a Good Bro, Whump, deadnaming, double assassins, ice out, or not if you’re Peter, or there should be, vibranium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-10-17 08:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverchitauri/pseuds/silverchitauri
Summary: It’s a field trip. It’s always a field trip. Because who do we as writers send on field trips more than Peter Parker?Peter’s going to SI, Flash doesn’t believe him, the Avengers want to embarrass him, and my creativity went flying out the window.Also, Trans Peter Parker because why not?This might turn into something longer. I don’t know yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an intro, really. Celebrity sighting, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaahhh. I have no brain cells left this lovely day.

 “That’s so cool!”

Peter sighed for what felt like the millionth time that evening. Leaning from his web-hammock, he grabbed the web shooter from Ned’s hand and flipped it the right way so webs wouldn’t blast his best friend in the face. “Don’t break anything.”

”I know, I know. I promise I won’t.”

”’Cause if you do, Mr. Stark’s going to flip out on me.”

”I know. I won’t break anything.” Ned held the shooter in a very precarious position. “See? I’m your Guy in the Chair. I got this.”

Ned had the Spider-Man mask pulled over his head, and the eyes’ lenses narrowed and widened as he examined the shooters. “Hook web, timer web, venom web...”

Letting his legs dangle over the edge of the hammock, Peter watched his best friend act like a kid in a candy store. He knew from experience that Ned was repeating the names that the suit’s AI, who Peter named Karen, was telling him.

Karen was chill. She didn’t report everything to Mr. Stark anymore, unlike FRIDAY. She was good to talk to and even gave him sweet, but often completely unhelpful, life advice.

***

Example: Just last weekend, Peter as Spider-Man was debating whether or not to check out the back alley a few blocks down, which was a little bit outside of his usual stomping grounds, when his spidey-sense alerted him to another figure on the rooftop next to him.

Slowly, he turned, careful to keep his fingers poised over his web-shooters. Thanks to the suit’s night-vision, the figure on the opposite rooftop was in stark relief: a tall-ish guy, maybe 5’10”, 5’11”, built stocky and muscular. His clothing looked less like cloth and more like a red leather of some sort.

His face, like Peter’s, was hidden beneath a mask. Two nubs stuck up from the forehead like ears. Or horns.

It was Daredevil.

Peter’s heart immediately started fanboying almost as much as the time he met Captain America. This was Daredevil, the original vigilante of New York City. Yeah, his methods were sometimes questionable, but he was AWESOME in Peter’s suddenly ten-year-old mind.

”I wonder what he would do if I asked for an autograph?” Peter asked, mostly to himself, then giggled.

Karen chose this exact moment to say, “ _He has many fans, but most of them are intimidated by him. It would probably make him feel admired if you asked._ ”

”No, Karen, I was kidding,” Peter hissed back, waving her off. He probably looked insane talking to himself, but no one was there to see. “I’m just gonna go over and say hey.”

” _Would you like to rehearse your speech?”_  Karen teased. _“You are awfully funny when you rehearse speeches.”_

“Oh my God, Karen,” Peter groaned. “Tell Mr. Stark to turn off Baby Monotor Protocol already.”

He swung over to the building, landing lightly on the concrete. Daredevil stiffened slightly but didn’t move from his perch on the roof.

Peter cleared his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Daredevil whirled around, dropping into a defensive stance. “Who the hell are you?” he growled.

”Um.” Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ask for an autograph. “I’m Spider-Man. Big fan.” Ugh, he sounded so nerdy.

Daredevil relaxed. “Oh. Okay. What’re you doing outside Queens, kid?”

Peter stiffened at the word kid, but tried not to let it show. “I’m, uh, patrolling. Also, I love how you tied up those guys robbing the bank last week.”

”I didn’t tie them up,” Daredevil replied. “I knocked them out.”

”Right. That’s what I meant.”

Long awkward pause. _Dangit, Karen. I will never listen to you ever again_. “I’ll, uh, just go.”

”Right.” Daredevil turned his back on Peter, resuming his rooftop vigil. Peter stood awkwardly behind him, then turned and jumped off the roof, webbing his way to the next building.

***

From then on, he took advice from Karen sparingly.

“This suit is so cool,” Ned sighed, flopping back on the bed. “You’re so lucky you get to hang with the Avengers.”

”Yeah.”

”Why aren’t you more excited about it? Aren’t you guys friends?”

 “Yeah, sorta, but they don’t know about...” Peter waved at himself, not really sure how to phrase it. “All of this.”

”What?” Ned asked, not looking at Peter as he focused intensely on the shooters. “That you’re a huge nerd?”

Peter sighed and flopped back into the hammock. “No, Ned. Not that.”

”Oh.” He heard as Ned set down the shooters. “They don’t know?”

”No.”

Peter’s big secret wasn’t really a big secret. Anyone who’d known him for more than a few years (i.e. Flash, Ned, a bunch of other kids at his school) had only known him as a “him” for a short while.

Peter was a guy. Had always been one, really, but the rest of the world didn’t see it that way. They could only see past what his body said, and if his body was the body of a girl, then well, shit, he’s gotta be a girl, right?

Coming out to Aunt May had been the parental reaction that everyone dreamed of having. The moment he thought he’d gotten enough courage to talk to her, his vocal chords had shut down. Typical, Peter.

Seeing that something was wrong, she hadn’t rushed him, and instead took him out to ice cream, waiting patiently for him to tell her what was on his mind.

And he did as soon as they got back to the apartment. She gave him a hug and the most beautiful lecture he’d ever gotten in his life.

”You’re my nephew,” she said. She said _nephew_. “I love you no matter what.”

Then, after everyone had cried it out, she sat him down and made him explain all of the surgery options, hormones, and clothing choices.

People at school weren’t quite as kind. There had been the sudden touching. Shoving him into lockers, tripping him in the hallways, grabbing his chest as “proof that he wasn’t a boy.” The list goes on.

Ned was so cool. When Peter told him, he gave Peter a high five, congratulated him, then began ranting about Star Wars.

He loved Ned.

People slowly stopped caring. The novelty of having a transgender kid to bully started to wear off. When he went to high school, only a few kids were there from his last school, including Ned (thank God) and, unfortunately, Flash.

Nobody at Midtown really knew. Flash hadn’t outed him to the whole school yet, but Peter knew it was only a matter of time.

But, when Mr. Stark introduced him to the Avengers, Peter didn’t tell him or anyone. Maybe he was being paranoid, but if his idols, his teammates, didn’t like seeing the person the rest of the world thought he was, he would never live it down.

It wasn’t technically lying if he kept the information from them, right?

He was a very bad liar, and was fairly sure Natasha and Clint could see right through him but were just being quiet to be nice. 

Maybe they all were just being nice. Maybe they all knew.

No, that was paranoid.

Suddenly, his spidey-senses screaming dragged him out of his funk as Ned exclaimed, “ _Web grenades?_ What’s this do?”

Peter lurched out of his hammock toward his friend. ”Nonono, don’t do that—“

_FWISH._

A small capsule of webbing shot across the room. Peter tried to lunge toward the grenade but missed and ended up lurching over the hammock and down to the ground. It richocheted off the light and hit the rug.

_WHOOM!_

The capsule exploded, sending a sticky net of webbing ballooning over the floor. One strand hit the door. Another clung to the wall. Yet another missed Peter’s foot by inches. Ned reeled back on the bed, lurching away from the web.

A quiet moment, and then: ”So that’s what it does,” Ned murmured.

***

“Tell me how you met Mr. Stark.”

The two were sitting on Peter’s bed, waiting for the webbing to dissolve.

”No, Ned. I’ve told you a million times.”

”Just tell me again,” Ned pleaded.

”No.”

”Please.”

”Dude.”

”Pleeeeaaassssee—“

”Fine.”

 

_“Hey May.”_

_Peter unlocked the door to his apartment, heading straight for the kitchen._

_”Mmm,” she replied. “Hey. How was school today.”_

_“Okay.” He set his bag on the counter along with the DVD player he’d found lying around at the station. Which was great since his old one was ancient and scratched his discs. He could count numerous scifi movies that had fallen victim to it. “This crazy car parked outside...”_

_Wait, what?_

_His brain screeched to a halt like one of those vintage vinyl tapes that he’d always wanted because they were cool but could never afford._

_SCREEECH._

_Because on his couch, next to normal, everday Aunt May was Tony Stark._

_He was hallucinating. Tony freaking Stark could not be sitting on his couch in his dingy apartment. It wasn’t happening._

_Yeah, his eyes were telling him it was real, but his brain kept sending big red error messages to the rest of him._

_The hallucination turned toward Peter as if just noticing him. “Oh,” said Hallucination Stark, “Mr. Parker.”_

_Dazed, Peter pulled out his earbuds. “Um... What-What are you doing...?” Get your shit together, Peter. “Hey!” Definite voice crack there. “I’m-I’m-I’m Peter.”_

_”Tony.”_

_Forming words. How did you do that again? Peter couldn’t remember._

_“What are you- What are you - What are you doing here?” He crossed his arms in front of him awkwardly. Play it cool, Peter. Play it cool._

_He was failing miserably._

_Mr. Stark (his brain had finally accepted that it was him) replied in a nonchalant tone, “It’s about time we met. You’ve been getting my e-mails, right?”_

_Tony winked at Peter. Did he just wink at me? “...Yeah, Yeah.”_

_”Right?”_

_Peter tried to catch on to whatever otherwordly plan was going on. “Regarding the...” Uh..._

_May turned an accusatory glare at Peter. “You didn’t tell me about the grant?”_

_”About the grant.” Yeah, totally. The grant. What grant, again?_

_Tony chimed in, “The September Foundation.”_

_”Right.”_

_”Yeah. Remember when you applied?” Tony nudged._

_”Yeah.” No._

_”I approved, so now we’re in business.” He looked at Peter as if Peter were in on the secret._

_This had to be the weirdest dream ever since the spider bite. It was too good to be true: Tony Stark knowing his name, Tony Stark acknowledging him, him being able to maybe pay back May for everything she’s done for him. Would be kind of disappointing when he woke up, though._

_May glared at him some more. She had a kind of hurt look on her face “You didn’t tell me anything. What’s up with that? You keeping secrets from me now?”_

_Peter felt bad for a second before he remembered he had nothing to feel bad about. “Why, I just, I just... I just know how much you love surprises, so I thought I would let you know... wh... Anyway, what did I apply for?”_

_”That’s what I’m here to hash out,” Tony confirmed._

_”Okay. Hash, hash out, okay.”_

_Tony began droning on about something else, but Peter wasn’t listening, because this was Tony Stark. With an internship for Peter! Peter, of all of the kids in New York._

_”—date loaf is exceptional.”_

_”Let me just stop you there,” Peter said. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea interrupting the man about to hire him, but he had questions. Many, many questions not being answered. He was going to start out with the most important question for, not just him, but for May, too. “Is this grant, like, got money involved or whatever? No?”_

_Tony nodded like it was obvious. “Yeah.”_

_Peter was still extremely skeptical about the whole thing. “Yeah?”_

_”It’s pretty well funded.”_

_This could change everything for him, for May. He could finally pay her back for everything she had done for him. Maybe start paying for his own T-shots. “Wow.”_

_Tony shrugged. “Look who you’re talking to.” Then he turned to May. “Can I have 5 minutes with him?”_

_May looked at Peter with a look that said, Are you okay with this? Peter nodded. She turned back to Stark. “Sure.”_

_***_

 

Peter sat back on his heels. “And that’s it.”

”That’s _it?_  Tony Stark just shows up in your apartment, asks if you’re Spider-Man, you say yeah, and he takes you to Germany?!” 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

”That’s so cool.”

”Yeah.” Peter had to admit that Ned was right on this one. “It’s pretty cool.”

They sat there for a moment in comfortable silence. 

“Oh!” Ned piped up suddenly. “Don’t forget to get May to sign the papers.”

”Papers?”

”Yeah,” Ned replied, looking at him with a weird expression. “The permission form.”

“...Right! The permission form.” Peter frantically scrambled to remember what Ned was talking about. No dice. “For what again?”

“Have you been listening to anything this entire week?” Ned asked him, sounding genuinly curious. “We’ve been talking about it all week in class.”

”About what?”

”The field trip, Peter,” Ned sighed. “To the Avengers Tower.”

”Wait, _what?!”_

_Shit._  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a standard post-Homecoming tale with a little spice mixed in.  
> As I aimlessly wander through a vague outline of a classic story outline. I made Flash terrible again. I’m sorry (not really).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is brainpower?  
> Please tell me. I don’t know anymore.
> 
> Gender dysphoria alert, guys.
> 
> Also, I’ve got no idea what’s going on, so please. Feedback. That’s all I ask.

The moment Ned left, Peter scrambled for his backpack. Rifling through his notebooks, he got to his Decathlon folder. He flipped through the most recent pages of notes, and, sure enough, there was the permission form right in between notes on King Henry VIII and a doodle MJ gave him of Mr. Harrington sleeping during practice.

”Aw man...” Peter groaned and flopped back on his mattress. He could already picture a dozen possible scenarios, and all of them ended in disaster. “Are you _kidding_   _me?”_

“Kidding you about what?”

He jolted at May’s voice, then relaxed when he realized all the webbing around his room had dissolved.

”Oh, hey May.”

Her eyes narrowed. Leaning against the doorway, she studied him closely. “Don’t _hey, May_  me. What’s going on? Rough day?”

”Erm...” He shuffled through the papers, desperately trying to hide them from her. He wasn’t quite ready to talk about the field trip. “No, no, no, I’m good. How-how was your day?”

No dice. She immediately spotted the papers. “What’s that.”

Resigned, he sat back on his heels as she strode over and began rifling through his folder. When she held up the permission form, he winced.

She sighed and kneeled down next to him on the floor. “You love going to the Tower. What’s wrong, Peter? Don’t shut me out.”

He groaned. “It’s nothing, May. I’m really excited. Just tired.”

She gave him a _don’t bullshit me_  look. “Really, May. I promise. Just tired.”

She looked at him for another moment before leaning down and placing a kiss on his head. “Okay. I’ll sign them, then leave. But you’re going to tell me how that trip goes.”

”Okay, May.”

”I larb you.”

***

_Peter stared at his phone, debating. To record or not to record? On one hand, it would be really fun, and he’d have a little souvenir forever. On the other, Mr. Stark might think he was immature if he did._

_Ah, screw it. He was Spider-Man, and he was going to record. Hell, not only that, he was off to help bring in Captain America. Might as well have a little fun doing it._

_Holding up the phone, he pulled up the camera and pointed it away from him, vlog style._

_Hoped he could pull off a commentator voice (the T-shots were helping) he cleared his throat._

_”New York,” he began. “Queens. It’s a rough borough, but hey, it’s home.”_

_“Who are you talking to?”_

_Crap. He forgot about Happy. “No one. Just making a little video of the trip.”_

_”You know you can’t show it to anyone.”_

_”Yeah, I know.”_

_”Then why are you narrating in that voice?”_

_”Uh... Because it’s fun.”_

_”Fun.”_

_Peter wondered quietly if Happy even knew the meaning of the word. He decided that he didn’t._

_Trying to make conversation, he shifted awkwardly in his seat. “So, uh, why do they call you Happy.”_

_The reflective partition separating the front from the back slid up, and Peter sighed, shutting his phone off. “So that’s a nope, then.”_

_Eh, whatever. A grumpy Happy couldn’t ruin the best day of his life. He was going to Germany, and for once in his life, nobody was going to judge him for being a kid (he hoped), or for being a nerd, and, most importantly, for being transgender._

_As far as he knew, Mr. Stark had no idea that he was transgender unless he looked it up or if May told him. But he trusted May not to out him under any circumstances._

_She was cool like that._

_***_

_Peter snapped back to focus when the limo swerved onto a cement landing strip. He peered out the window. A large private jet was parked in the middle of the runway, sleek and shiny in the sun._

_The limo jerked to a stop, and Peter heard the door and the trunk pop open at the same time._

_Happy was all business as he hurried to the trunk, scooped out Peter’s bags, and plopped them on the ground before grabbing his own and shutting the trunk again._ _Peter clambered out after him, flicking his phone back on._

_He wanted to keep this vlog forever._

_Happy set down his suitcase and pulled up the handle. “Come on. I’m not carrying your bags. Let’s go.” He hit some remote controlled button, and a set of steps swung down from the side._

_“Hey, should I go to the bathroom before?” Peter called after him, stumbling up the stairs after him. He had never himself been on a plane, but it’s what everyone did in the movies before getting on planes._

_”There’s a bathroom on it.”_

_Peter ducked under the plane’s doorway. In the cockpit, there was no pilot or personnel or anything._

_”Whoa,” he breathed despite himself. “No pilot? That’s awesome.”  
_

_If only Ned could see this. He would flip out._

_Happy eased himself into a chair near the front. Peter stood, unsure of what to do._

_Was there a certain plane etiquette you followed? Was it different on commercial flights than on private ones? Did you act differently when there wasn’t a pilot?_

_Not really sure of what he was doing, he plunked in the seat across from Happy._

_Apparently it was the wrong move to make, since Happy frowned at him. “Is that where you’re gonna sit?”_

_”Yeah.” Note to self: buy Plane Etiquette 101 for Dummies after the trip._

_”This is your first time on a private plane?”_

_”My first time on any plane,” Peter admitted honestly._

_Without saying anything else, Happy got up and moved to the seats diagonal Peter._

_That was fine by Peter. He propped his legs up on the now vacant seat across from him. The seats were super comfy, but a little stiff._

_Wait. There was a dial up by the button with the picture of a little person waving their hand. He turned the dial, and his seat slid back._

_He giggled despite himself. This was_ so cool _. As far as first plane rides went, this was pretty sweet._

_He turned the dial. Backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards. He could even adjust the firmness with another switch on the armrest._

_He held the switch down, and the seat became so squishy he sank down in it. He giggled again._

_The plane began to rumble like an earthquake._

_”Should it...? Should it be...? Should it be making that noise?”_

_Happy rolled his eyes, not answering._

_Eh, whatever. Nothing was going to pop a hole in Peter’s balloon of happiness today._

_The plane started forward, and Peter lurched with the movement, catching himself on the armrest. Weird. Take-offs never looked this violent in movies._

_Just to be safe, Peter shut off his phone and put it in his pocket so it wouldn’t fly across the plane and smack Happy in the head._

_Though that wouldn’t be the worst thing if it did._

_***_

_Ok, ok, quiet, be quiet, and...._

_Happy twitched, and Peter jolted away, suppressing a wave of childish giggling._

_He fumbled back to his seat, bumping into another on the way._

_Payback, he thought to himself when he was sitting back in his seat. He grinned as he watched the footage. That’s what you get when you mess with Spider-Man._

_Happy should count himself as lucky that Peter wasn’t allowed to post this on YouTube. He totally would if he could._

 

“Peter?”

He grumbled as a voice pulled him out of the dream, through the fog and mist. “Huh?”

”Peter!” Ned hissed, elbowing him. “Dude, wake up.”

”Mr. Parker?”

Crap. It was Mr. Harrington. The decathlon coach adjusted his glasses. “Care to join us again?”

Peter straightened up from his slumped position. “Sorry, sir. My bad.”

Mr. Harrington gave him a pointed look before turning back to the rest of the team. “Okay. Now that the whole team is back with us, let’s continue. Round 1. Easy questions, guys. What is the capital of Bangladesh?”

 _Ding_.

“Cindy?”

”Dhaka.”

”Very good, Cindy.”

Flash, who was (unfortunately) sitting on Peter’s other side, leaned over and whispered under his breath, so quiet that almost nobody else would be able to hear it:

“Emily fell asleep again?”

Peter ducked his head, a flush of red crawling up his face, but inside he went completely numb.

Emily Elizabeth Parker. The name printed on his birth certificate until May had taken him to the courthouse to legally change his name.

He had thought that, by doing that, he could leave “Emily” behind for good. Every time he thought that he could escape the name, his past, it came back to bite him in the form of Flash Thompson.

It was hard enough being himself when his own body didn’t agree with who he was. Hard enough when his validity, and millions of others’, was questioned daily on national news networks. Hard enough when society thought he was lying and he couldn’t tell people anything about him without the possibility of them judging him for simply existing.

But every snide, sideways comment Flash made was the final straw that left him questioning his own identity.

He hated it. It was stupid that Flash could make him so insecure. He was Spider-Man, after all, and Flash practically worshipped Spider-Man.

But Flash could out him any minute, could topple everything he’d built here. And they both knew it.

MJ, sitting against the wall next to Flash, doodling, stiffened. Her eyes shot daggers in the back of Flash’s head, but Peter barely noticed.

He barely noticed anything for the remainder of practice. All of his concentration went into keeping his breathing even, controlling the shaking in his hands, ignoring the numbness in his chest. It was showing, too. He flubbed three easy questions that he usually would’ve had no trouble answering. But today, the capital of Ukraine just wouldn’t show itself in his brain.

His brain was like a scratched CD playing the same words over and over again. _Emily. Emily. Emily._

That wasn’t him. That wasn’t his name.

Peter wanted to scream at Flash, make him see, but he couldn’t move. He barely heard Mr. Harrington talking about the field trip tomorrow. He barely felt Flash bump into his chair hard on the way out.

He was so, _so_  numb.

A hand grabbed his arm, and MJ yanked him to his feet. “Up you get. There we go.”

The three of them (Ned joined them) walked out of the auditorium.

Flash was chatting with someone, laughing about something. Maybe about what he said during practice, Peter thought dully. He was past caring.

MJ, however, was not. She waited at the lockers until Flash walked by, then stuck her foot out to trip him.

It worked. Flash stumbled head on into Abraham before righting himself indignantly. “Dude!”

” _Dude_ ,” MJ sneered back. Then in a lower voice that didn’t carry: “Cut the dead-naming, will you? You’re not half as funny as you think you are.”

Turning back to Peter, she grabbed him by the arm and marched with him out the door, ahead of Flash. “Ignore him. He’s a loser.”

Peter nodded, but on the inside everything still felt numb. 

 

Correction: everything felt completely, utterly _wrong._  

The numb _wrongness_  had spread to his chest, his legs, his arms. His clothes felt wrong, his skin felt too tight, his chest was too big. He couldn’t breathe, let alone function properly.

Why did his legs feel wrong?

His hair scratched at his neck.

Why were his arms so skinny.

He sucked in a deep, shaky breath.

Why couldn’t he feel his face? It was like all the nerve endings had been cut off from his brain, all sensation stopped.

Nothing felt right.

So he locked himself in his room, burying his face in the mattress, ignoring May’s pleads with him to open the door, to let her in, let her talk to him.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled into the pillow. The feeling of fabric against his skin was rough and suffocating. He lay there anyway, unwilling to move.

The knocking stopped. 

 

There was only one fix for a day like this: to take himself away from this part of his life, to leave behind all of the baggage from the day, to forget who he was to become someone else, someone better, someone who did good in the world instead of sitting still and watching life pass by without doing anything.

Yeah, math homework could wait. Tonight he was going out as Spider-Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snatched the name “Emily Parker” from a fantastic fic called “Saving Peter Parker” by MintSolace. It’s here.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864195/chapters/34414976  
> You should check it out.  
> I changed the middle name, though.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morn’ of humiliation has dawned upon us at last.  
> 

Peter took his pent up frustration out on the streets that night. It was pretty easy, too. Usually he felt a twinge of guilt every time he webbed up petty thiefs for the cops to catch. He was ruining people’s lives for stealing sandwiches.

But tonight it was different. All he had to do was imagine each criminal as Flash and, _wham!_  Instant gratification.

A creepy frat guy making moves on a girl turned into Flash, and Peter had sent a web flying at the guy’s face before he could yell, “Bro, really? Not cool.”

The girl jumped, like, five feet before doing a double take. “Aren’t you Spider-guy?”

Peter sighed, perching on the fire escape above her. “It’s Spider-Man.”

”Yeah, that’s what I said.” She stood there, just looking at him.

He stared back at her before rolling his eyes and gesturing at the guy, who was slamming repeatedly into the brick wall. “Shouldn’t you be running before the webs dissolve?”

”Oh, right.” She stayed put.

 _Bruh,_  Peter thought to himself. Some people....

”Start running,” he advised. She did. _Now that that’s over,_  he thought, relieved before webbing himself away.

Fortunately, none of the other people Peter saved or caught that night were quite as stupid. A guy robbing a jewery shop who tried to get away on a segway came pretty close, but at least the guy had the sense to ditch the segway and run.

Peter webbed him before the guy even got three meters. 

He felt really bad when the man started bawling in terror.

 _Flash,_  he reminded himself. _He’s Flash._

Five minutes later, he felt a bit better when a little kid in a stroller pointed at him as he swung by and squeaked, “Spider-Man! Spider-Man!”

His heart warmed, deciding that little kids were the best. He shot the kid a finger gun, and the kid got so excited he tried to copy Peter, only to accidentally use the middle finger instead.

 _Oops._  Peter winced inside, hoping the kid’s parents didn’t see the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man enforcing obscene behavior. _At least he got the name right._

It was still kind of weird having everyone recognize him. Even though he knew in his mind that he was the Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-man who saved people every day, it was still odd being so famous.

Later in his patrol around ten, something caught his eye as he swung low over the sidewalks.

A dude wearing a dark ski-mask was sprinting along the sidewalk on the other side of the street, slipping and stumbling as he clutched a really expensive looking purse that probably wasn’t his (unless he really had a thing for hot pink Valentino handbags)

Gotcha, Peter thought. He silently webbed himself after the guy, wondering if he had ever seen a more cliché criminal in all his time in NYC.

Ski masks, dude? Really?

“HEY, DICKWAD!” Peter shouted, swooping low. He was starting to sound like Deadpool. That wasn’t a good sign.

Just as the guy looked back, Peter let go, using his momentum to body slam the guy to the ground. They both hit hard. When the guy started struggling, Peter shot a web at his head bashing it into the wall. The guy slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Peter then broke his number one rule of never hitting a guy who was down, and rammed his fist into the guy’s side with 3% force before reining himself back in. This wasn’t Flash. And he was Spider-Man, not Daredevil.

Grabbing the bag, he stood, before his heightened hearing caught the sound of a phone recording.

A guy stood on the sidewalk a few meters away, recording the whole thing.

Peter winced. Aww, crap. Definitely not his best move. He could practically see the soon-to-be YouTube video playing across hundreds of phones: Spider-Man Beats Up Guy on Street. 

Whatever. 

Ignoring the cameraman, he shot a web at the building nearby, swinging away to return the bag to its owner.

***

Two hours later.

 _Like in the Spongebob cartoons_ , Peter thought deliriously as he basically fell through the window to his room, landing on the floor with a thud. _Owwwww._

If May decided to axe down his door right now, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Well, the dysphoria problem had been solved for about four hours, but this was worse.

Way, _way_  worse.

The rest of the patrol hadn’t gone well. He had fallen from five buildings. _Five._  Then he decided to be an idiot and had tried to break up a mob that was beating up some wayward kid. They then decided to beat up him, instead.

Even with his super healing, knife wounds didn’t just instantly heal. And once one gang member pulled out a knife and got all stabby stabby, the rest did too.

A lot of them had healed, but since his body was putting so much energy into healing, he didn’t have much left over.

His binder had ripped, elastic, fabric, and all. It was now about as useful as a crop top.

He collapsed on his bed, counting all the sore muscles in a sort of checklist. Back. That was going to hurt tomorrow. So was that arm. Hamstring. Sliced, half healed achilles tendon. Snapped forearm. Ribs. Ow, ow, ow.

Tomorrow was gonna suck.

***

Tomorrow sucked. Boy, did it suck.

It was like what Peter imagined a hangover to be: overwhelming, exhausting, and painful.

He had been correct the night before when he thought his ribs would hurt. They did. By sheer luck, all of the open wounds and breaks and tears had healed properly, which didn’t always happen. One morning, he had woken up with a broken ankle that had healed backwards.

But his head pounded with each heartbeat, sore muscles screaming with each step. And he had to use his old binder, which was certainly a torture device concocted in the pits of Hell. But it worked, and he didn’t really have any other options.

May gave him a kiss before he left to catch the bus. “Have fun on the field trip!”

Oh yeah. That thing.

Peter let himself slump in one of the bus seats today instead of standing so people less able could sit. A middle-aged woman glared at him to whole way as he took up space. He wanted to snap at her “I saved a bus last night. I want to ride in one today.” But he couldn’t.

So he tried to ignore the second hand shame she was sending his way. Instead, he pulled out his phone.

17 missed texts from Ned.

 **guyinthechair** : peter

 **guyinthechair** : peter

 **guyinthechair** : peter

 **guyinthechair** : dude

 **guyinthechair** : its today

 **guyinthechair** : ohmygod is this real?

 **guyinthechair** : do you know thor

 **guyinthechair** : have u seen the hammer?

 **guyinthechair** : dude

And so on. Peter bit back a smile despite his dread.

 **guyontheceiling** : excited much?

 **guyinthechair** : dude. u have no idea

 **guyontheceiling** : i have an idea. u texted me 17 times

 **guyinthechair** : dude

 **guyontheceiling** : you said

 **guyinthechair** : i know. but dude. is this so normal for u now?

 **guyontheceiling** : kinda

The bus screeched to a halt at Peter’s stop. He stood up, earning another glare from the woman.

 **guyontheceiling** : gtg

 **guyinthechair** : see u soon

Ned stopped for a second. Peter waited.

 **guyinthechair** : but dude

There it was. Peter grinned before making his way out of the bus.

The air outside was crisp and cool, a perfect day to be outside patrolling instead of touring SI. He wondered what would happen if he bailed. Just left the bus and patrolled the whole day.

Then he thought about DC and decided not to. He had quit on his team enough. And Mr. Stark would be on his case if he skipped—

“‘Sup, Penis Parker!”

_Vroooom!_

Peter sprinted to the sidewalk just in time to miss Flash’s obscenely expensive car that his dad had bought to replace the one that Peter as Spider-Man had crashed.

Right. Another reason to go. Flash didn’t believe Peter’s internship was real, so going would prove him wrong.

He also wanted revenge.

”Peter!”

Peter turned to see Ned running towards him, excitedly waving his arms. He looked like he was doing an impression of one of those traffic cops that stood on airplane strips, signaling to pilots with their arms. MJ followed behind, looking as calm as ever.

”Dude,” Ned shouted. “It’s happening.”

”Yeah.” Peter couldn’t even sum up enough energy to sound excited. “Great.”

”Try to look alive, loser,” MJ said affectionately. “You look like a zombie.”

”Jeez, thanks MJ.”

She grabbed his arm, looking him dead in the eyes. “But really dude. You good?”

She was talking about yesterday, he knew, but all his brain could suddenly focus on was the fact that she had let down her emotional wall for a second, and her hand was on his arm, and that jacket looked really nice today, and wow was she wearing perfume, and on and on and—

“Yeah, totally,” he squeaked, voice cracking several octaves. 

She let go of his arms, barrier going up once again. “Great. You do you, loser.”

He stood there, frozen for a second, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She clutched her notebook close to her chest.

Ned nudged him. “Dude, you with us?”

Peter blinked, suddenly aware of the fact that he was surrounded by their decathlon team, and that he had probably been staring at MJ for too long. “Yeah.”

He thought he saw MJ smirk out of the corner of his eye. _Damnit. Subtlety, Parker. Subtlety._

“All right, guys,” Mr. Harrington said. “This is it. Just remember that we’re really lucky to even be considered for this, so don’t go bragging to your friends about it, okay?”

“Like Parker?”

Flash. Of course it was Flash. It was always Flash.

As if reading his thoughts, MJ muttered under her breath, “That guy needs to _die_.” He only picked up the words because of his sensitive hearing, so he was fairly sure no one else heard her.

Flash plowed on. “I mean, Parker’s always rambling on about his fake internship, when in reality he’s only been, like, one time.”

”Actually, you’re the one who talks about it all the time, Flash.”

It took Peter a second to realize that the words had come out of _his mouth_.

A couple of hushed _ooohs_  came from the group, but Mr. Harrington raised a hand. “Guys, enough. Yes, Mr. Parker shouldn’t keep it up,” he gave Peter a pointed look, “but nobody should talk. Including you, Flash. So, guys, when we get to the Tower...”

But Peter stopped listening. He was kind of riding the high of having stood up to Flash. Ned gave him a fist bump and MJ shot him a quick smile.

It was kind of awesome, being the one on top.

Until Flash shouted as they headed to the bus, “Watch it, Emily!”

And Peter’s blood froze.

He shook himself. No. Don’t let him get to you. That’s not you. Don’t react.

MJ looked downright murderous. “That little shit...”

”Don’t,” Peter stopped her. “He’s not worth it.”

They piled onto the bus.

Once Peter got to his seat, he sat silently between MJ’s dry remarks and Ned’s fangirling, dread boiling in his stomach.

The Avengers were going to give him hell for this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SI!!!!!! Pete, brace yourself


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Tower, Pete.  
> We’re here to make your day a living nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was mean to Flash this chapter.  
> I’m probably only gonna get meaner.

Peter was having a mini panic attack.

A very silent mini panic attack on the inside, at least. Reason? The Midtown bus had just pulled into view of the Tower’s parking lot.

The bus got louder as kids started excitedly chattering. Speculations flew.

”Is that Iron Man’s car?”

”I heard he has robots that do all his house cleaning.”

”Will we see Captain America?” asked Charles, eyes shining like a hopeful little kid on Christmas morning. “Or Thor. I hope we see Thor.”

”Will Thor’s hammer be there?”

”Or that robot guy?”

”What about War Machine? If he was there, I think I’d actually die.”

”I hope Black Widow’s there. She’s really hot,” Flash said boldly, and Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He hoped for Flash’s sake that Natasha never heard him say that. If she did, he would be down on the ground in a nanosecond with a broken arm twisted behind him and said assassin’s leather clad knee planted on his back.

But, for once, nobody else payed attention to Flash, their excitement at seeing the Avengers overwhelming everything else.

Even Ned joined in, though Peter had suspected he would. Despite having been to the Tower before with Peter, he acted like the ultimate fanboy, goggling at the gleaming windows and soaring spires of the building.

”I wanna see the Winter Soldier,” Ned breathed, causing MJ to roll her eyes affectionately. “I didn’t get to see him last time. Or the Hulk. I hope we see the Hulk.”

”No you don’t,” Peter reminded him.

”No I don’t,” Ned repeated, though he didn’t sound like he fully comprehended the words. “Or Hawkeye. Hawkeye would be awesome.”

Peter groaned. _Shiiiiiit._  He hadn’t warned Clint not to interfere, not that the archer would listen to him anyway. On the contrary, Peter knew he would go out of his way to embarrass the younger Avenger to his full capacity

”Oh my God,” he said. “I’m gonna die. This is it.”

Flash (damn you, Flash) somehow picked up on the words. His strident voice filled the bus like an unwanted rooster at dawn. “Why, Parker? Scared the Avengers will break your cover?”

”No—“

But it was useless. The other boy plowed on, full steam ahead. _Trainwrecks 101, Starring Flash Thompson._ “Yeah, I’m actually embarrassed for you. It’ll be so awkward when you try to pretend you know the Avengers and they cut you down.”

”I’m not going to pretend—“

”Really?” Flash leaned over the seats. There. Now he had everyone’s attention, just how he liked it. “Then admit it. I want to hear you say it. After me: ‘My internship isn’t re—‘“

”Flash,” Mr. Harrington said, sounding bored. “Sit back down. I’m trying to park.”

Flash sat, but didn’t break eye contact with Peter. “Tell me, Parker. Do _you_  know if Thor’s going to be here?”

To be honest, between patrolling and his internship schedule, Peter hadn’t gotten the chance to go to the Tower since he learned about the field trip. He answered truthfully. “No. I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to Mr. Stark since last week.”

A smug smile settled itself on Flash’s face. “I thought so.”

Even friendly Abe gave Peter a disappointed look, as if he had let him down or something. But before Peter could say anything to defend himself, a tall skinny twenty-something-year-old with an official looking name tag stepped onto the bus.

The guy’s head bumped the ceiling as he hunched over, but he smiled warmly at the team with a well-practiced air of authority.

”Hey, guys!” he said cheerfully. “My name’s Emmet,” he gestured to his name tag, “and I’ll be your tour guide today.”

A quiet murmur went around the seats, but most people were tuned out, craning their necks at the Tower. 

Ned leaned over to Peter. “Do you know this guy?” he whispered. Peter shook his head. He didn’t interact with a lot of the public relations people, given the fact that he wasn’t considered part of the public. He mostly knew the technology interns.

Peter tried to listen to the safety briefing, which was actually kind of interesting. He could hear snippets of Mr. Stark in some of it, especially in the “stay off all equipment”, “wash your hands”, and “don’t touch, look at, or breathe in the direction of anything that belongs to Mr. Stark.”

All the safety briefing for the public was new to him. Who knew that they had an orientation video available from 9-3 on touring days? Not Peter.

But his mind kept slipping back to the team. What would they do when they saw him walking single file into his home away from home like a tourist. What would FRIDAY say? Mr. Stark? Natasha?

Clint and Sam were the ones he was most worried about. They were the ones most able to wreck havock upon him and his pathetic social life if they wanted to (which they usually did). Thor would also be able to do a lot of damage with his inability to be subtle.

And Mr. Stark...

Well, he couldn’t predict how Mr. Stark would react. With that man, anything was possible. He might treat Peter like a total stranger, or he might poke fun at him the entire time.

Whatever the case, shit was about to hit the fan, and Peter had absolutely no control over it. All he could do was try to stay in the back, maybe pull up his hood and hope that nobody noticed him.

Of course, that was too good to be true.

Emmet finished his speech and then sighed. “Well, now that _that’s_ over...”

Everyone perked up, even MJ, though she just looked a little less annoyed than usual. 

From his bag, Emmet pulled a stack of what looked like laminated note cards that, when flipped over, turned out to be name tags for each of the team. Everyone began passing them down, goggling at theirs like it was a prized possession.

When Peter got his, he could see why they were excited. It looked so _official,_  with the words **Guest of Stark Industries, Home of the Avengers** on the left side of each person’s name, and the giant _A_  for the Avengers intertwined with the Stark Industries logo in a simple but aesthetically pleasing fashion.

He wondered who designed them. He could totally see Steve having a blast drawing these, with some micro-managing from Tony mixed in.

But just seeing it, his heart sank. This would make blending in impossible. It would be like having a target stuck to his front for the whole tour.

And Clint was a perfect shot.

Maybe if he stuck it underneath his hoodie it would work. He _was_ still technically wearing it, and it meant that nobody would see it—

“Hey.” A hand stopped him as he tried to follow the rest of his team off the bus. It was the tour guide, Emmet. He motioned to Peter’s sweatshirt. “Gotta wear your name tag, man.”

”But I am,” Peter protested, lifting up his hoodie to show the name tag.

”We have to be able to see it to scan you in,” Emmet said.

”But dude,” Peter begged, knowing it sounded pathetic. “Please?”

Emmet looked truly apologetic as he shook his head. “Sorry, man. Tower policy.”

Peter sighed in resignation, unpinning the name tag from his T-shirt and reattaching it to his sweatshirt. Emmet clapped him on the back before whispering, “We’ve got some weird rules here, but they come from the top. Even when we’re not touring, Mr. Hogan likes us to keep our name tags on display. Just a thing he’s got, I guess.”

Peter nodded. He knew that about Happy, but never did he suspect it would come back to bite him like this.

He stepped out into the parking lot, knowing that the team just heard that whole exchange.

 _Now’s a good time to flip that hoodie up, Parker,_  he thought to himself, doing just that and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Flash grinned nastily at him and mouthed, _You’re not special, Parker._

He ignored him.

The team followed Emmet and Mr. Harrington inside, bubbling with anticipation. Peter plodded along behind, trying to keep toward the back.

Once in the lobby, Emmet led them to the left instead of to the right, where Peter usually went when he stayed.

“Wait,” he said before he could catch himself. “Isn’t the elevator that way?”

The team started murmuring and Emmet gave him a confused look. “Yes, we do have an elevator that way, but that’s for higher up staff. This is the checking zone, as we call it. You all will be going through here.”

Peter nodded. _Shit, gotta keep you mouth closed, or you’ll blow your cover._

Then he froze in his tracks, mind replaying what Emmet just said. Ned bumped into him from behind. “Peter, you good?”

”Yeah yeah yeah,” Peter said absentmindedly. “Just gotta...”

He jogged to the front of the line, earning a glare from Flash and a curious glance from Mr. Harrington. He fell into step with the tour guide, and, keeping his voice low, asked, “Wait, you said there was _scanning?”_

Emmet looked down at him suspiciously. “Yes, Mr....” he looked at the stupid name tag “Parker. There is. Any problems with that?”

His tone suggested that he had a problem with Peter.

”No no no, no problem at all.” Peter fell back to where Ned and MJ were walking, mind piecing together parts of the puzzle. Emmet’s suspicious stare followed him back.

”What’s up?” Ned asked.

”Remember when he said they were scanning our name tags?” Peter asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking. His friends nodded. “Well, we’re going through security, and I’m fairly sure there’s no way I’ll be able to hide from the security cameras.”

”Peter, why are you trying to hide?” MJ asked. “You come here all the time.”

”Because...” Peter looked around. Nobody was watching. Flash was yammering on in Abe’s ear about how much Captain America was going to love him. “Because I don’t want the Avengers to know I’m here.”

”But why?!” Ned’s voice rang out. He clamped a hand over his mouth as people turned. Lowering his voice, he asked again. “But, dude, why? They love you!”

”They love embarrassing me, too,” Peter corrected him. “And I don’t want to give Flash any more reasons to tease me. I’m never going to live down getting teased by the Avengers.”

”All the more reason to let them see you,” MJ pointed out. “Flash is gonna have to acknowledge that the internship’s real and that he’s been an asshole to a friend of the Avengers.”

Ned sighed blissfully, clearly not seeing Peter’s dilemma. “I’d love to be teased by the Avengers.”

Peter groaned. “Guys...”

But the group had stopped in front of a huge glass detector, probably full of all sorts of tech. Emmet waved to get everyone’s attention. “Guys! Listen up. Okay, here’s the newly renovated Stark deTechtor.” Peter rolled his eyes at the name. “And it’s just here for safety precautions, just in case anybody’s stupid enough to try to bring a bomb or a phone inside New York’s most highly guarded building.”

Was it just him, or did Emmet’s eyes linger on Peter when he said that?

Emmet continued. “It was developed in Mr. Stark’s own labs by some of his most advanced interns and scientists. And, of course,  by Mr. Stark.”

”Hey!” Flash cut in and Peter almost cursed out loud. “Do you guys hire high schoolers as interns?”

”No. The rule is you have to be at least 18 and in a highly accredited university or institution of some sort. Mr. Stark is very particular about who he hires. For the most part, high schoolers won’t even get considered. Why? Do you want to intern here when you’re older?”

Flash puffed out his chest, making him look, Peter thought, like a duck. “Actually, yeah. I’ve been planning on applying since I was really little. And some kid at our school says he’s applied, but nobody believes him.”

”Yeah, it’s very rare that a person under college age would be accepted,” Emmet said, nodding. “And it’s great that you’d like to apply. What’s your name? Sorry, can’t see your name tag from here.”

”Flash,” Flash said. “Flash Thompson.”

 _James Bond did it better,_  Peter thought, but didn’t say it out loud. Instead, he lined up behind everyone else, trying to blend in. Emmet shot him a pointed look.

Flash, of course, had shoved his way to the front of the line, right after Emmet and Mr. Harrington.

Their tour guide stepped forward first, head facing forward. A film of blue light washed over him, and a small _beep!_  came from the gateway.

”Emmet Anderson. Guide, Level Four. Clear,” said a voice from above, and everybody jumped, including Peter. Flash startled so badly he tripped over his own feet, then caught himself and tried to act like it didn’t happen. “Welcome, Emmet.”

Peter began cursing everything about his life. Why, why, _why_  was FRIDAY programmed into this stupid gateway? Why did the world hate him? Why was his life like this.

He begged silently that Mr. Stark hadn’t put anything under his name that singled him out.

“That’s FRIDAY,” Emmet explained as everyone oohed and aahed.  “She’s Mr. Stark’s personal AI. She essentially runs all the technological day-to-day functions of the place: security cameras, computers, electricity, you name it. She’s friendly to just about everyone, unless you’ve really done something to piss the Avengers off.” He paused. “Which obviously none of you have done.”

”What’s the level thing?” Sally asked. Peter was actually wondering the same thing.

”Oh, it’s just where you are in the staff. Important visitors are often Level Two. Interns are usually Level Three. More experienced staff can be Four to Five. Foreign ambassadors or people high up in power are Six to Seven, along with SHIELD agents.” A few people whispered at the mention of SHIELD. “Eight is people in charge of certain departments. Nine would be interns to the people up top and people who work directly with the Avengers. Ten is for the Avengers and certain select people such as family or people selected for other reasons that I’m not allowed to say. Depending on what level you are, certain portions of the Tower are accessible. For instance, only Level Ten people are allowed in the Avenger’s living quarters.”

Chatter began as soon as Emmet mentioned the Avengers, and he had to raise his hand for quiet. “Only Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts are allowed in the penthouse.”

”What level are we?” Flash asked.

”You all will be Level One.”

Flash looked thoroughly disappointed with that answer.

Mr. Harrington walked through next, and only a few people jumped this time when FRIDAY’s voice announced, “Roger Harrington. Visitor, Level One. Clear. Welcome, Roger.”

A couple kids snickered at Mr. Harrington being called “Roger,” but most people just looked at the gateway in awe. Probably excited that FRIDAY was going to say their name.

Flash puffed up his chest, dusted off his already clean button down, and walked through.

Instantly, red lights flared to life, and a wailing alarm echoed across the lobby. Peter cringed away from the noise. Flash just stood frozen in shock, his moment ruined.

Security guards ran forward. Flash put his hands up with a whimper.

”FRIDAY,” barked one of the guards. “Scan him for fluids or explosives!”

A bright red light ran over Flash before all alarms cut off, leaving the team cowering and Flash covered in guards.

”Visitor appears to be carrying a handheld device,” FRIDAY announced. “No wireless devices detected. All clear.”

All the guards but one dispersed. The guard held out her hand, and Flash just looked at it in shock.

”Phone,” she barked.

”But I wanted to—“

”PHONE!”

Flash handed over his phone. The lady took it with a glare and made her way to the desk.

Emmet looked disappointed. “Were you not listening during the safety briefing? No phones allowed during a tour.”

“But I wanted to take a photo with—“ Flash began, but Emmet cut him off with a look.

“Aspiring intern or no, you need to leave all electronics on the bus.”

”But,” Flash spluttered, pointing at Mr. Harrington’s phone. “He has one.”

”He is your chaperone and you are minors. It’s needed for safety.”

Flash looked like someone had kicked his puppy. “Where are you taking my phone?”

”We’re keeping it at the front desk until the tour is over,” Emmet told him. “Now, go through again.”

Flash walked through with slumped shoulders.

”Eugene Thompson,” FRIDAY said like the words left a nasty taste in her mouth. “Visitor, Level One. Clear.”

Peter noticed she left off the “Welcome” at the end.

***

The rest of the scans went without incident. Ned jumped a little when FRIDAY said, “Edward Leeds. Visitor, Level Two. Clear. Welcome, Ned!”

Peter grinned as Ned’s eyes shone, and Peter could practically hear his thoughts: _That’s so cool._

The line in front of Peter was shrinking rapidly, and suddenly, he was the only one left standing on this side of the scanner. Flash, fully recovered from his humiliation, sent a confidant smirk Peter’s way. Emmet’s eyes were trained on Peter suspiciously.

Peter took a deep breath, and walked forward.

_Beep!_

“Peter Parker,” FRIDAY’s voice rang out. “Intern, Level Ten—“

Peter’s stress levels skyrocketed. “FRIDAY, FRIDAY stop!”

”Hello, Peter.” FRIDAY’s voice carried more affection than a programmed AI should. “Welcome, back. Shall I tell Mr. Stark that you’ve arrived?”

”Nononono, please don’t do that,” Peter begged. This was exactly what he had dreaded would happen. All his classmates, even Ned and MJ, were looking at him in pure shock. “Don’t—just, don’t tell anyone. Okay?”

FRIDAY’s voice was teasing as she said, “Whatever you want, Peter. Clear.”

Peter’s face burned hotter than the sun as he walked the rest of the way through. He dared to sneak a glance at Flash, and immediately regretted it.

Flash looked livid. His brow was furrowed and mouth turned down in a snarl. Hatred burned in his eyes.

_Oh, boy. I’m paying for that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sloppy writing. It’s been a creativity barren week.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the ELEVATOR.

“Level _Ten?!”_

Flash’s indignant cry mirrored everyone else’s shocked expression. Emmet looked like he’d been pied in the face, minus the pie. Ned goggled in fanboy glee as Peter slouched lower behind him.

Mr. Stark had built the Iron Man suit. He had saved the world on multiple occasions. He had programmed a walkway that screamed out Peter’s level, guaranteeing his death at the hands of Flash. Why had he programmed all that and not a trap door that Peter could fall through?

Flash went on, voice getting shriller and shriller by the moment, making Peter question whether Flash had gone through puberty at all. “But you said only the _Avengers_  were Level Ten! Why is _he_  Level Ten?!”

Emmet gathered himself and turned to Peter. “What did you say your name was again?”

”I didn’t say,” Peter muttered.

”What’s your name?”

”Peter. Parker. Peter Parker, sir.” Was there stealth mode for humans? Peter wanted to find out, and soon. He slouched further in his hoodie, the name tag like a homing beacon on his front.

”Well, Mr. Parker,” Emmet said. “I-It’s definitely a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to tell us—“

”No!” Peter blurted louder than he meant to. “Uh, I mean, no, sir. Thank you. But no.”

”Are you sure? You would technically be more qualified than me—“

”Yeah, yeah, really. I’m good. Uh, you’re trained and stuff. And, I’ll just—“ He tried to, unsuccessfully, sidle behind Ned. Ned shifted to lood at him, completely ruining the point of hiding. “Please, uh, keep touring and stuff.”

Emmet looked at him for a bit longer before turning back around and giving himself a little shake. “Well, thank you guys for your patience. I didn’t—um. Well, never mind. If you follow me this way to the elevator, I’ll be showing you guys the lower level laboratories first...”

Peter tuned out, trying not to die from humiliation. He could feel Flash’s eyes burning a veritable hole in the side of his skull. Ned wasn’t helping matters at all.

”Dude,” he kept saying. “Man. Wow. Dude.”

”Ned,” MJ said. She had stayed relatively calm during this whole thing. “Peter’s well aware. He probably doesn’t need you telling him.”

Ned had not stayed calm. ”But dude.”

”Shut up.”

Ned shut up. Peter loved MJ.

The visitor’s elevator was enormous, enough to fit their entire team plus Emmet, and that didn’t even take up half the space. Peter guessed that Mr. Stark had the elevator shafts custom made.

When the doors parted, everyone followed Emmet out. Gasps filled the air as they took in the laboratory. Peter had to admit: it looked pretty sweet.

There were no windows, as the sunlight countered the need for a controlled environment, but that didn’t take away from the experience at all. In fact, it created a sort of underground bunker feel, with wide open rooms complete with soaring ceilings and shiny metal tables. People of all ages walked around, balancing equipment and parts on trays.

The chatter was low and indistinct, but Peter knew from experience that this was a place where ideas flew around almost as fast as the robots zipping around the room, delivering parts.

Emmet began explaining, but a lot of it Peter already knew. Procedures, safety, what went on, who used the place.

”And often,” Emmet went on, “a room or two of the lab will be sectioned off for testing sites. Since the lab covers multiple floors, this is easily done by putting into place steel walls that will drop from the ceiling panels—“

”Peter? Is that you?” A voice cut through the low chatter of the lab. Peter stiffened when he saw in one of the steel walls the reflection of a young girl with a form fitting white dress walking towards them. A few of his teammates turned and gasps erupted. Ned nudged him. “Peter! Look who it is!”

Emmet kept on talking, clearly unaware of the situation.

”PETER!” Before he could brace himself, he was being tackled from behind. Only Natasha’s training kept him from completely faceplanting in the middle of the lab. The arms around him squeezed tight until he felt like he was in the grip of a boa constrictor.

Shuri pulled back, grinning broadly, completely ignoring the uproar she was causing. “Peter! Are you ignoring me?”

”Hey, Shuri,” he said meekly.

”Don’t ‘hey, Shuri’ me, nerd,” she said affectionately. “I haven’t seen you in FOREVER! What are you doing? You look like one of those awkward tourists that come here.” She paused, looking around, then frowned. “Wait, _are_  you one of those awkward tourists?”

”This is my school,” Peter mumbled. He watched all his hopes of staying under the radar vanish with Shuri’s broad smile as she turned to Mr. Harrington.

”It is so good to meet you,” she smiled, and Peter resisted calling her bullshit. She put up a nice front for the public, but in reality, she hated the public relations part of things.

As she had told Peter once, “I feel like when I say I’m a princess, people expect me to put on those ridiculous glass shoes they wear in the movies and faint. It’s no wonder the girls are fainting. Those shoes look like torture devices. Vibranium is always better.”

Mr. Harrington gaped like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly. Flash looked positively desperate as he said, “It’s awesome to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Flash.”

Shuri didn’t even spare him a glance as she turned back to Peter. “Well, see you around.”

Then she walked off before he could say anything. Everyone watched as she walked away. Then, as soon as she stepped out of view, all eyes swiveled back to Peter in almost comical unison.

He sighed. This was going to be a long trip.

***

He was right. As they walked through the labs, he got recognized everywhere.

”Pete?”

”Peter!”

”Hey, dude!”

”What’re you doing here?”

”Where you been?”

”I got this new design—“

”My brother saw you at Delmar’s the other day—“

”Gotta tell you about this thing I heard on TV—“

”Pedro!”

”It’s Peter,” Peter muttered as Sebastian Álvarez pulled him into a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over Peter’s head. The nineteen-year-old, known by everyone as “Al”, was one of the younger interns in the Technology Sect of SI, fondly known as Tech Sec. He was basically a human calculator. Give him a math problem, calculus, trig, geometry, anything, and a jug of coffee; he’d be happy as a clam. “Nobody calls me Pedro.”

”Yeah, I know. Good seeing you, Pedro.”

Al released Peter and ran off to one of the testing rooms, leaving Peter in the increasingly familiar position of having everyone‘s eyes glued on him.

Next stop were the offices and meetings rooms, and Peter relaxed a little.

Nobody he knew was usually in the meetings rooms, and he hardly ever went to the offices. He was looking forward to a bit of a breather.

The team, still in mass shock, piled silently into the elevator. Emmet bravely attempted to continue the tour spiel, but when he realized nobody was listening he lapsed into silence.

One floor passed.

Then two.

_Ding!_

The offices went smoothly (that was a first), but nothing very interesting was in the library. A bit of a murmur went up when two SHIELD agents walked by, but other than that it was uneventful.

Peter wondered if it was too much to ask for if the rest of the trip was this calm.

They all piled back into the elevator.

 

Emmet pressed the up button and Peter began the silent count in his head.

_One floo—_

A hand slid between the closing doors, pressing them back open, and Clint Barton entered the elevator.

Of _course_  it was too much to ask. The world hated him.

Everyone pressed against the walls of the elevator, Peter included. Shock and excitement rippled through the team.

Whispers of _ohmygodit’sHawkeye!_  filled the air.

 _Don’t notice me_ , Peter pleaded with every fibre of his being.

And it seemed like Clint didn’t. Peter forced himself not to relax, to show his relief.

Then, he saw the corner of the archer’s mouth jut up in a smirk, and his heart plummeted all the way back to the lobby.

That bastard _knew_.

But Clint didn’t do anything more than nod at Emmet and Mr. Harrington. And the more Clint didn’t do anything, the more Peter stressed. This was Clint holding back. This was Clint planning something much bigger that needed more than an elevator to carry through.

In other words, Peter was dead meat.

Two floors later, Clint got out, smirking the whole time.

Flash leaned over to Peter and muttered, “So you know the Avengers, Emily?”

But it didn’t even bother Peter.

Because Clint?

He was way, _way_  worse than Flash.

And Peter had a target on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man. Peter, I’m so sorry. I had to do this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint. Why?  
> that is my only question.
> 
> We were all looking forward to what Natasha does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys...this is too much. You all are so sweet.  
> I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys. Keep being awesome.
> 
> I know next to nothing about martial arts, so bear with me.

  _Ding._

Peter’s vision snapped back into focus as the group filed out of the elevator. He tried to shove Clint’s forboding existance to the back of his mind. Then he remembered there was Flash to deal with, and he thought about staying in the elevator and riding back down to the lobby.

”Peter, move,” MJ hissed, nudging him from behind, and he stumbled out of the elevator—

only to freeze again.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit._

He _knew_  this room: padded walls and floors, bars running low across the ceiling with broken chains dangling from them like icicles, sets of giant cylindrical punching bags stacked in the corner. The smell of disinfectant hit Peter like a truck. In the very center of the room was an elevated platform roped off. Hanging from the ropes was an enormous pair of worn boxing gloves.

They’d brought him to the Avenger’s gym _._

 _Just kill me,_  Peter thought as everyone started babbling loudly. Ned was jumping up and down, squealing. _This literally cannot get any worse—_

Like Murphy’s Law, the universe answered his call, and frickin’ Clint Barton walked in, carrying two sets of boxing gloves over his shoulder. Everyone screamed, and he flashed them his movie star smile.

Peter’s only paranoid thought was,  _Why would he need two pairs?_

The question was answered when Natasha Romanov stalked in after him, all black in a dark tank top and workout tights and carrying a set of boxing strike pads.

The only colorful things about her were her bright blue sneakers and her hair, and Peter knew that the only reason she wore the sneakers was because Clint bought them for her.

The room got ten times louder. Charles’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. Cindy had her hand over her mouth. Abe was jumping up and down with Ned. MJ was, well, MJ. And Flash...

Flash was gaping like a fish. “Hot” Black Widow was in the same room as he was.

 _Please don’t say anything stupid,_  Peter begged him. _For your own good. As much as I don’t like you, I don’t want to see you get assassined by the most bad-ass assassin._

The babble only got louder as the two ignored the group and began warming up: stretching, doing some shadow boxing and light footwork.

Finally, Clint grabbed the strike pads from where they lay on the floor and ducked under the ring’s ropes. Natasha was right behind him.

Clint pulled on the strike pads, and a hush fell over the group as the two Avengers got into stance.

Everyone held their collective breath, Peter included.

Then Natasha struck like a snake.

She was like lightning, spinning and kicking, jabs and blows so fast that even Peter’s semi-trained eyes could barely keep up.

But Clint had no trouble, blocking each blow with ease. He held the pads with a well-practiced air of expertise. But this was not how most of the sessions went. They usually tried new moves, learning from falls and doing things slowly, then building up.

They were showing off, Peter realized, and a grin broke across his face. The great Avengers were showing off.

They went at it for a long time, during which everyone watched in awed silence. The two assassins stopped for a water break after about five minutes, and then it was Clint’s turn.

He was just as impressive as Natasha, using his heavier weight to his advantage. Natasha wasn’t even fazed.

Then, Nat stripped off the pads, and the show began.

This was something Peter had seen them do only once before. Mostly, they stuck to basics when he was there, just mixed martial arts and some basic jiu-jitsu, but this was the next level. They flipped and kicked, parrying and striking so fast their limbs blurred. Somehow, Natasha ended up on the ground, but five seconds later she was on top of Clint, pinning him down with her knees.

This was the real deal. The two were gasping for air, sweat pouring down their faces, clearly exhausted. Somehow, that made it all the more impressive.

Then Natasha held out her hand, pulling Clint back up, and they went at it again.

After about ten more minutes, they stepped back out, and Emmet broke out of his trance.

”So,” he said, sounding shocked. “You guys were _very_ lucky to have just witnessed that. Uh–most tours, the Avengers don’t show up at all.” He glanced at Peter. “I’m not sure what exact form of martial arts that is, but—“

”Savate.”

Emmet startled so badly he almost dropped his clipboard. Natasha was facing the group, looking majestic and terrifying despite the flush of exertion crawling up her neck.

She stalked over, causing Emmet to trip over his own feet. Her eyes scanned the class, skipping over Peter like he wasn’t even there, though he knew she noticed.

She turned back to Emmet. “It was Savate.”

”With a little Muay Thai mixed in,” Clint called, still in the process of pulling off his gloves.

Natasha nodded, then turned back to the group and—

“That was really awesome.”

Flash. But Natasha only nodded again. She opened her mouth to say something, but Flash interrupted again.

”I’ve really been wanting to meet you. I’m, like, your Number One Fan, Miss Black Widow,” Flash went on confidently. He straightened up as all eyes went to him. “I’ve really wanted to fight like you since I was little.”

”Really?” Natasha said. Clint joined them, and the two assassins shared a look. Peter often thought the two shared a secret language that only they could understand.

“Yeah, and—“

”Hey, Pete!” Clint interruped Flash, giving Peter a wave.

”Oh my _God_ ,” Peter mumbled under his breath. Clint, the little shit that he was, just grinned.

The wave had its desired effect. Everyone simultaneously swiveled around to face Peter, looking back and forth between Clint’s grin and Peter’s red face.

”But you were lying!” Flash said in horror. Natasha’s eyes honed in on Flash, who, for all his talk about the “Hot Black Widow”, flinched like she was brandishing a knife in his face. “Lying about what?”

“Knowing the Avengers,” Flash mumbled. For once, he looked embarrassed to be the center of attention.

”Why would we not know Peter?” Clint’s friendly grin faded, a genuinely confused expression crossing his face. But Natasha’s eyes had narrowed.

Peter had never specifically told them about Flash. He’d mentioned bits and pieces about a kid that bullied him, though he left out why. They didn’t need to know that. He could see Natasha’s expert brain piecing together all the bits of the puzzle.

”Uh,” Flash said.

”Go on,” Natasha said, her polite tone suddenly cool. The whole team backed up a little, leaving Flash standing apart from the group.

”’Cause he’s just a normal kid, and you’re the Avengers,” Flash mumbled. He should’ve left it there. It actually sounded human, and Natasha’s gaze had warmed a little. Clint nodded, becoming friendly again, but Flash had to go and wreck it by saying, “And he’s not cool.”

Welcome to sub-zero Natashaland, where people who say the wrong thing get iced out so bad they get frostbite.

”Do explain,” she said coldly. Flash, instead of saying ‘never mind’ like a normal, sane human would, continued the verbal trainwreck.

”Because he’s not popular! And he sucks,” Flash said, and the team backed away another few centimeters. Peter was pushed back as well, but his face burned with shame. Flash had to do this, right in front of everyone, in front of his mentors. It was only a matter of time before—

“And it’s not like Emily has any friends or anything!”

_Whoomp, there it is!_

Peter wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Instead, his eyes burned with stupid, unreasonable tears. REALLY, FLASH?!

MJ looked like she wanted to stab Flash in the back with a pencil.

”Who’s Emily?” Natasha demanded, and Flash shrank back again, suddenly silent.

”It’s what he calls Peter,” Cindy called out, and Peter’s blood went ice cold.

No, not ice cold. That would imply it was still flowing through his veins. He was fairly sure it wasn’t. Was it possible for blood to be frozen rock solid?

To the casual observer, Natasha’s expression would appear blank. But Peter had trained with this woman every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon for over a year, and he saw when her sharp gaze flickered first with confusion, then recognition and burning hot anger, which quickly settled into a cold rage.

Peter winced as she turned that quiet fury on Flash.

Then she blinked, and it was gone. She just looked...blank.

Clint shot her a look, then cleared his throat, diverting the attention.

He clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Well, guys, I think today would be a great day to actually show you guys some moves.”

The awkwardness dampened the excitement, but people started chattering anyway.

The team was sorted into lines, one with Natasha and one with Clint. One by one, people took turns hitting the strike pads that the Avengers held in front of them.

Cindy was surprisingly good, hitting the pad harder than Clint was prepared for. He stumbled a little and gave her a fist bump. Then he corrected her form.

”Strike from the shoulder,” he encouraged. “No, don’t tuck your thumb. That could break it if you were ever actually punching. There you go! Throw your weight behind it. Pretend like the pad’s your sibling. Nice!”

Natasha rolled her eyes at that. Her approach was more analytical, handing out compliments less frequently. She threw scenarios at each student.

”If you can control your strength, you are much more effective. Knowing the difference between stunning an opponent and knocking them out can mean the difference between life and death.”

Whew, that was intense. But Peter was used to it. He waited at the back of the line again, avoiding confronting them after what happened with Flash. What would he see when he looked them in the eyes?

Natasha’s fury had only confirmed his suspicions that they knew about him.

When Flash went to punch the pad, Natasha pushed back, sending him toppling to the floor.

When it was Peter’s turn, Natasha winked at him but didn’t say anything. He sent her a silent thank you for letting him stay under the radar.

Clint _still_  hadn’t done anything horrible. That worried him. Clint usually did something horrible to embarrass Peter.

”Yo, Pete!” 

Clint stood in the ring, pulling his boxing gloves back on.

Oh shit.

SHIT!

”No,” he told Clint. “No way, dude. I am not doing that.”

”Mr. Hawkeye,” Mr. Harrington spoke up, sounding very timid. “I can’t allow that. On the waiver—“

”It placed all the responsibility on the people on the top,” Clint said cheerfully, leaning on the ropes. “And I’m a higher level here than any of you.”

”Except me,” Natasha muttered. “And Peter.”

”So,” Clint continued, an impish grin on his face. “I can technically leave it up to Peter. And Peter loves me.”

”No I don’t,” Peter muttered. This was a nightmare.

”Dude, you still owe me from last week when you skipped.”

”I didn’t skip, Clint—!”

”Yeah, you did, kid.” Clint tossed a pair of boxing gloves.

”But why here?” Peter asked plaintitively.

”Like I said, you love me. Plus, sounds like you got something to prove to a few people here.” He glanced at Flash.

”Clint...”

”Come on, Pete. How about if I promise I’ll only do jiu-jitsu.”

”Clint...why?”

Clint’s expression got serious while his tone remained cheerful. “You know why.”

Flash. This was all about Flash. This was Clint’s version of Natasha shoving Flash to the ground. It only helped that it embarrassed Peter in the process.

”Fine.”

Why was his life like this?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KARMA!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wham!  
> Do I need to say more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, man!

Clint held up the rope as Peter ducked into the ring.

”Why am I doing this?” Peter asked, very aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. Here he was, a regular Midtown student in the eyes of his peers, about to step into a boxing ring with a seasoned Avenger in a hoodie and jeans.

Judging from the faces of his teammates, they were thinking along the same lines: horrified that he would die. Well, all of them except for Flash. He looked gleeful. Probably excited to watch Clint slam Peter into the dirt.

What Flash didn’t notice was Natasha’s glare boring a hole into his back.

Clint sized Peter up. “Better ditch the hoodie.”

Silently, Peter stripped it off along with the nametag target that Clint had shot full of metaphorical arrows.

 _Stupid nametag_ , he thought bitterly. Too late now.

”Hey.” Clint snapped his fingers in front of Peter’s face. “Come back to me. Why’re you so spacey? C’mon, you do this every week.”

”Yeah, well, not every week is a busful of my classmates staring at my back, waiting for me to be creamed by an Avenger,” Peter grumbled. Self-consciously he tugged at his T-shirt. “And they’re all watching us have this conversation...”

”Who cares?” Clint said. “Prove them wrong.”

”Maybe you haven’t realized it,” Peter informed him, “but doing jiu-jitsu in jeans and boxing gloves is really hard. And we don’t need boxing gloves for jiu-jitsu.”

“Who said we were just doing jiu-jitsu.” Clint grinned innocently as Peter resisted taking a swipe at him.

”Dude!” That was too loud. Tone it down, Peter. Trying not to let the desperation creep into his voice, he said, “You promised!”

”I was just kidding.” Clint was obviously trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably. The bastard.

”Really not cool. I’m out.”

”Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey!” Clint grabbed Peter’s arm as he tried to duck under the ropes. Peter shrugged him off and Clint put his gloved hands up. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

”That was the plan.”

“C’mon, Pete.” Clint tried to do a puppy eyes face. “Just one round?”

And so Peter found out that he had literally no will power. Five seconds later he stood in the ring again facing Clint.

“I will get you back for this,” Peter promised.

Clint just bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, grinning as he watched Peter try to pull his gloves back on. “Aww, c’mon, Pete.” _Focus,_  he signed, as if they were just in a regular sparring session.

 _Y-O-U S-U-C-K,_  Peter signed back before pulling the gloves back on. His sign language was far from perfect, but his fingerspelling was good enough. Clint just stuck his tongue out like a five-year-old.

Suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore, and a fist was flying at Peter’s face. He dodged it, then had to scramble away to avoid a flying kick at his groin. He didn’t anticipate the right hook.

He smacked the floor hard on his back.

 _Son of a bitch,_  he thought. Clint was mixing styles. _Not fair._

Usually during practice, they would stick to one or two styles. This was some weird kick boxing-jiu-jitsu-Muay Thai combo.

Clint offered him a hand. Peter took it.

”Let’s try this again,” the archer said.

They got back into stance.

 _Three,_  Peter thought. _Two. O—_

And Clint’s elbow flew at his neck.

***

That went on five rounds. Five rounds where Peter ended up on his back, pressed into the sweaty mat with Clint on top.

_Bam!_

He hit the floor for a sixth time, and when Clint offered him his hand, he didn’t take it.

”C’mon Pete,” Clint said. “Get up.”

”Dude,” Peter said, almost in tears. “Why the hell are you doing this?”

”My question is, why the hell aren’t you _fighting back?_ ” Clint grabbed his arm and yanked him up. Peter rubbed his arm. When he flicked his eyes at the rest of his class, Ned looked disappointed. Flash had a triumphant grin on his face.

His blood began to boil.

Flash mouthed, _Girl._

And his blood lit fire.

He looked back at Clint who looked like he was restraining himself from leaping over the ropes at Flash. Instead, he grabbed Peter by the shoulders. “This isn’t what I taught you. I don’t know who taught you this running away crap, but it isn’t you. You need to FIGHT. BACK.”

He gave Peter a shove.

The shove sent Peter over the edge.

The push, Clint’s stupid quest to embarrass him, Flash’s side comments, the deadnaming, even Ned’s stupid excitement as Peter got humiliated over and over again.

Peter let out a yell as he lashed out with a jab-cross-left hook combo. That Clint blocked.

So he let himself sink into his training, delivering an uppercut and a rear-leg pushkick that sent Clint stumbling backwards.

All extra noise faded to the background. It was just him and Clint.

Then Clint sent a sweeping kick at his legs, and his vision tunneled.

_Kick, swipe, dodge, knee strike, roll, elbow, block, jab, uppercut._

_Repeat._

He was breathing hard, soaked with sweat. Clint, who was already tired from fighting Nat, still managed to pin him down a few times. He pinned Clint down a few times.

One of the most important things Natasha had taught him was how to control his strength but still be effective. As he got more tired, it became harder to focus on keeping himself in check.

The next pushkick he delivered sent Clint flying into the ropes. The ropes snapped, and the archer toppled, sweaty gross pits and all, right on top of Flash Thompson.

It felt like the perfect ending.

Peter was slightly dazed from exertion when the world’s sound returned to normal.

He immediately wished he had earplugs.

The room was in an absolute uproar. Abe was screaming. Charles was yelling and jumping up and down, whacking MJ in the face until she clocked him upside the head with her sketch book. Mr. Harrington was bellowing over everyone, making zero effort to quiet everyone down. Emmet was so pale he was almost transparent.

Maybe that was the double vision.

Peter swayed, and suddenly there were hands on his shoulders. 

“Sit down,” Natasha ordered, lowering him to the ground. A bottle of water was shoved into his hands. She left for a second, then appeared moments later supporting Clint.

They all slumped down together in the ring, sweaty and panting, a little pocket of peaceful exhaustion in the midst of utter chaos.

Natasha glared fondly at both of them. “You two are nuts.”

”You think?” Peter muttered. “Mr. Apollo Creed over here—“

”You didn’t do too bad yourself,” Clint panted. The blonde archer looked half dead, sweating buckets. Peter was pretty sure he looked just as bad.

”That wasn’t meant to be a compliment.”

”I know.” Clint grinned, looking happier than someone who just got kicked through a boxing ring should be able to. 

“I’m not kidding, though,” Nat said. “You guys went at it for fifteen whole minutes.”

” _Fifteen?_ ”

”Yes,” she replied. “So, if you end up not being able to walk tomorrow, I’m not helping you.”

”But what if I really want breakfast?” Clint whined. “I’m, like, ten meters away, Nat. Surely you could give a friend a hand?”

“Anyone who ends up this tired after challenging a fifteen-year-old to a cage match deserves to skip breakfast.”

”Naaaat...”

Natasha signed something that didn’t look very nice, and Clint just pouted.

”Hey, uh...” A small voice interrupted. Peter turned to find Emmet looking up at the three of them in awe, like they were the Holy Trinity or something. He flinched slightly when he made eye contact with Peter. “C-can we continue the tour, please?”

“Right,” Clint said, sounding not overly enthusiastic. “That.”

”He means,” Natasha shot Clint a look, “that yes. Absolutely. We’d love to.”

”Um,” Emmet stuttered. “I didn’t know you guys wanted to join—“

”Of course we do,” Nat said, kicking Clint in the shin.

”Owww! I didn’t even say anything this time.”

”You were about to.” She slipped under the ropes and jumped to the ground. Clint shot Peter a look like, _Can you believe her?_  Peter shrugged before slipping under himself.

The room had quieted somewhat, probably watching Emmet talk to them, but the moment Peter and the two Avengers walked towards them (Clint and Peter limped, really) they started chattering again.

”ENOUGH!” shouted Mr. Harrington, even though he’d been screaming only minutes ago. He turned awkwardly to Peter. “Um, Peter—“

”PETER!”

Ned tackled him, then Abe and Charles. MJ stood back just watching, a smirk on her face. She gave him a thumbs up.

”Ow, guys, watch the ribs.” He carefully extracted himself from the human octopus just in time to see Flash’s expression.

He looked like Peter had taken a shit in his lunch. His perfectly styled hair was messed up, probably from when Clint had fallen on him. His button down was sweaty as well.

And he looked like he wanted to murder somebody.

”I bet it wasn’t even that hard,” he muttered as Peter passed.

Natasha, the master assassin that she was, overheard.

“Oh, really?” she responded loudly, not even trying to disguise her hatred. Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Couldn’t they just finish up, end the tour, and go home? Was that too much to ask?

No, he shouldn’t even think that. The last time he did, he ended up fighting Clint.

Flash, though still terrified looking, managed to draw himself upwards and face Nat. Maybe he got courage from his hatred of Peter.

”Yeah,” he said, and the Natasha Effect fell over the room. The temperature dropped ten degrees.

”I mean, he’s not even that athletic.”

Ten more degrees. _Someone, grab a hot water bottle for our most recent frostbite victim_ , Peter thought.

”I could do it better.”

Was he _trying_  to get himself killed?

Natasha smiled coldly at Flash. It was a terrifying expression. Flash might have wet his pants.

“Fine,” she said. “Prove it to me.”

”What?” Flash squawked, clearly not expecting that. “Wh-how? He’s already tired.” He gestured to Clint. “Do you want me to fight _him?_ ” He pointed at Peter

“No,” Natasha replied, smiling that same frost princess smile. “Against me.”

Flash looked terrified at first, almost like he might back down (the human, sane thing to do). Then he caught Peter’s eye and stiffened.

He flashed his Flash Thompson smile at Black Widow. “Sure thing, babe.”

 _Eeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwww._  Peter cringed. Oh my god, you IDIOT. STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID.

How was it even possible that such a stupid person could make it into Midtown?

Flash made a big show of warming up. He did it all wrong.

He stumbled a little as he clambered into the ring, clearly having never been in one.

Charles turned away, plugging his ears. “I can’t watch,” he whispered. “Tell me when it’s over.”

MJ put an uncharacteristically motherly arm over his shoulders. “Don’t worry,” she promised. “It’ll be over soon.”

Huh. They all became a big family in their shared hatred for Flash.

Back up in the ring, Natasha watched with a scathing expression as Flash stretched, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He swung his arms a little as if loosening them up. Then, he got into a football stance.

Cindy spun. “I’m with Charles on this one.”

Flash grinned, holding his fists up in front of his face and—

_WHAM!!!!_

Flash was on his stomach, Natasha’s boot planted firmly on his back. She let him squirm for a few minutes before lifting her leg and letting him cough for air.

Stalking under the ropes, she rejoined the group like nothing had happened.

She looked to Emmet for directions. Emmet slid to the back of the group, clearly letting the Avengers take the lead.

Clint slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Next stop: the Welcoming Committee.”

”Where?”

”Upstairs.”

Mr. Harrington looked longingly at the Avengers before sighing. “I’ll wait for Flash.”

Flash was still on his stomach in the ring, lying there limp. Peter hoped Natasha hadn’t actually killed him.

That would be a lot of paperwork.

”All right!” Clint whooped, tugging Peter with him to the elevators.

”Wait,” Sally said. “Who’s in the welcoming committee?”

Clint winked conspiratorially at Peter. “Oh, Peter knows.”

Peter groaned. “I hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MWAHAHAHAHA  
> Please tell me I didn’t overdo it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, we are the Welcoming Committee.  
> Wait, is that Peter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I have been waiting SO long to write these guys. You have no idea.  
> Bucky will have the Infinity War haircut because it looks less emo and more approachable, in my opinion.

Clint ditched them, getting out on the next floor, saying he had to “go grab someone,” which was definitely not helping Peter’s stress levels.

He winked at Peter on the way out. Yeah, this wasn’t ending well.

The rest of the ride up was awkward to say the least. Peter did his best to ignore them, but he wasn’t used to having this much attention on him when he wasn’t in suit.

”Is this normal for you?” he hissed at Nat. She gave a small nod and he was suddenly grateful for the privacy gig he had going with Mr. Stark.

Poor Mr. Stark. He had to deal with this all day, every day, though he didn’t seem to suffer from it too much. Never had, seemingly.

_Bang!_

Everyone jumped as what sounded like a firework replaced the pleasant _ding_  of the doors opening.

_Bang!_

Nat strode out confidently into the large room, not even flinching when a third ear-shattering _bang!_  rang through the air.

When nobody moved to follow her, she looked back. “It’s perfectly safe, guys.”

If anything, people huddled further back at that.

”W-what _is_  that?” Charles squeaked, asking everyone’s question, though Peter already knew. He had only seen this room maybe once or twice, but those times had been unforgettable, and not in a good way. He didn’t move.

”Buck?” Natasha called. “Какую модель вы используете?”

“Глок 17. Четвертое поколения,” a familiar voice replied. “Кто с тобой?”

“Школьная группа,” she replied. “Приходи сказать привет.”

Footsteps neared and gasps erupted when a figure stepped into sight.

A very familiar figure, with dark brown hair down to the shoulders, complete with a beard, military looking vest, and a silver arm that glinted in the flourescent lighting.

Around the man’s neck was a pair of noise-cancelling earmuffs, the kind made for safety that pinched and squeezed your head.

Bucky Barnes flicked the safety on his gun before stuffing it into the holster strapped to his thigh.

Ned grabbed Peter’s arm so hard he felt his circulation nearly stop.

 _“It’s the Winter Soldier!”_  Ned whisper-screamed.

”I know _,”_ Peter whispered back. “Stop screaming.”

”Sorry.”

But Ned wasn’t the only one. The din had grown so much that Peter almost didn’t catch the “hey, Pete” Bucky threw his way. Peter, face flaming, gave him a little wave.

”Does Clint know you’re here?” the Winter Soldier asked, and Natasha snorted. He amended his statement. “I take that as a yes. Don’t tell me what happened.” He held up his hand. “I don’t want to know.”

There was a reason Bucky was a badass. Most people thought it was because of his fighting skills, but no. It was because he wasn’t hellbent on embarrassing Peter.

”Does Sam know?”

Oh, shiiiiiit. _That’s_  who Clint probably went to go get. “Oh my god,” Peter said for what felt like the millionth time. “I am actually going to die today.”

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, luckily not with his metal arm. “Nah. You’ll be fine. Maybe comatose, but fine.”

”Bucky,” Nat warned.

Bucky ignored her, turning instead to the team. “Which one of you wanted to know what gun it was?”

Charles squeaked as everyone pushed him forward. “Um, I-uh—“

Bucky grinned. “Here kid.” He held out his Glock for Charles to look at. Charles backed away like it was an exotic venomous snake of some sort.

”Bucky,” Nat said again. “Don’t offer weapons to children.”

”But he asked what it was.”

”That doesn’t mean he wants to see it.” Nat rolled her eyes. “He just heard gunshots and wanted to know where they were coming from.”

”Well,” Buck said, sliding the gun back into his holster with a _shfff_  sound. Charles immediately relaxed. “It’s never too late to learn.”

Poor Charles started tensing up again as Bucky reached for something in the opposite holster, but Nat put a hand on the other assassin’s arm. “Bucky. We are not teaching children how to shoot each other today. I already had to beat up one child. I don’t want people shooting.”

”You beat up a _student?”_  Bucky looked horrified. “Nat, we don’t do that!”

”He was kind of asking for it.”

”Natasha, no. Why?”

She started arguing, but he held up his hand again. “Never mind. I really _really_  don’t want to know this one. C’mon,” he told Peter’s group. “I’ve got someone I want you guys to say hi to.”

***

One floor up was an open common area with a TV, a ring of sofas, and one Steve Rogers sitting and reading a book.

The moment Steve saw the group, he stood up, putting down his book and squinting at the group. “Buck? What’s going on?”

”Hey Steve.”

Ned practically swooned. MJ and Peter steadied him before he toppled onto his face in front of Captain America. Even so, he went really pale and his eyes grew as wide as Cap’s shield.

Cap walked over, all suave patriotism and bad-assery condensed in each step. He definitely held an aura of quiet, powerful authority about him. It made Peter want to follow him anywhere, trust his lead to do anything. Jump into a shark tank? No problem, Cap. Say the word.

And this was when he was wearing jeans and a bright red sweater. When he was wearing the uniform...well, Peter wasn’t sure anybody would have the willpower to disobey him then.

Then,

”Pete?”

There it is.

”That you?”

 _No, it’s not. It’s a Life Model Decoy._  “Hi, Steve.”

A genuinely perplexed expression came over Cap’s face as he made his way over. “Are you _touring?_ ”

”My school—“

” _Peter! Think fast!”_  A voice bellowed, and something hit him hard in the side, sending him tumbling away from the group. He rolled until he came to a stop a few meters away from a very satisfied looking Sam Wilson, mechanical wings folding themselves into his pack.

”Dude!” This was out of control. “Really?”

 _Clank_.

Peter only had time to think _oh, shit!_  before the ceiling vent cover above popped off and Clint Barton dropped from the air vent, knocking Peter back down to the ground.

”Get ‘im!” he heard Clint shout, and suddenly two people were on top of him. Then three. Then four. And more, until Peter was squished under a mound of people, flailing and kicking.

It was getting hard to breathe. They were laughing, too. The bastards.

Finally, he found someone’s calf and slapped at it frantically in surrender.

Faintly he heard, _“He yields!”_  followed by a roar of laughter, and the pile began to disperse. When the last person (Clint) rolled off, Peter began coughing for air.

Looking around, he took in the “Welcoming Committee”: Shuri, Wanda, Sam (naturally), Clint (all his fault), Scott (didn’t know he was going to be here), and Bucky (traitor).

”All of you are terrible,” he managed between hacks. “And _you.”_ He pointed at Bucky. “I trusted you!”

”Focus, kid,” Clint teased as Peter pushed himself up and brushed off his jeans.

This had officially stopped being a field trip and started being a “Kill Peter!” Expedition.

”YOUNG PETER!!!”

Several people screamed.

Aaaanndd then there was Thor to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where, oh where did my brain cells go? I do not know...  
> If today’s wasn’t as good, just tell me. I got so little sleep.
> 
> Approximate translation:  
> Natasha: “What model are you using?”  
> Bucky: “Glock 17. Fourth Generation. Who’s with you?”  
> Natasha: “School group. Come say hi.”  
> Please forgive me. I don’t know Russian.
> 
>  
> 
> Guys, forgot to tell you, but for the next two weeks I’m not going to update as regularly. I’m traveling, but will try to get you the story. PLEASE don’t think I’m quitting. I WILL NEVER ORPHAN THIS WORK. PROMISE. But for the next two weeks I won’t update AS FREQUENTLY.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parkerson and Odinson.  
> And...Lang-son?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor, master of oblivion.

The Asgardian strode toward their group, most of whom were still on the ground from the Peter Pile, a large smile across his face.

The effect that the sight of him caused was cataclysmic. People started stumbling over each other, backing up, running forward. It was absolute chaos, and Thor seemed oblivious to it all.

He neared Peter. “PARKERSON!” he bellowed jovially. 

Before he could prepare himself, Peter was being yanked to his feet and wrapped into a bone-crushing, manly hug.

 _“Eep.”_  All the air was squeezed out of his lungs and his ribs almost cracked before Thor put him down.

The god of thunder was oblivious to that as well. Instead, he clapped Peter so hard on the back that Peter almost face-planted again. “I saw you engaging in a gaming of the wrestling sort, so I didn’t wish to interrupt.”

”More like body-slamming,” Peter muttered.

”What was that?”

”Never mind.”

Thor just grinned. “Anyway, I didn’t wish to interrupt, but I am delighted to see you, young Parkerson. I was recently back on my home, Asgard, and my brother is alive!”

”That’s fantastic!” Peter said, not even faking it. Thor’s enthusiasm was contagious.

”Yes, indeed. I think this is the second or third time, but every time is just as good.”

Peter nodded along as Thor chattered, the _ding_  of the elevator reaching the back of his consciousness. His heart sank when a scowling, battered-looking Flash Thompson stepped out with an irritated looking Mr. Harrington.

”And who are these mortals?” Thor boomed, waving vaguely in the team’s general direction, nearly missing whacking Ned with a gauntleted hand.

Ned just looked awestruck, like, _An Avenger almost hit me. So cool._

“My school,” Peter mumbled. He braced himself as he said that. Nobody could blame him, really. The last time he had said those words, half the Avengers had dropped from the sky onto him.

Thankfully, nothing happened this time. Thor only nodded, then pointed across the room. ”Including that one?”

Everyone turned to find Flash silently trying to nudge his way to the front.

Clint and Natasha both sent him equally furious looks and he stopped in his tracks. When he realized Thor was pointing at him, he flinched back a little.

”Yeah. That’s Flash.”

Steve tugged on Natasha’s arm with a questioning look. She started whispering softly in Russian. Steve’s friendly expression started to change. Bucky, who stood nearby, listened in.

Wanda shot them a curious look, and Bucky began talking softly to her in Russian.

 _How many Avengers know Russian?_  Peter thought to himself. He wondered if he could ask Nat to teach him. That would be cool.

”Flash Thompson,” Flash corrected.

Clint started signing discreetly at Sam, and Peter caught _F-L-A-S-H_  signed somewhere in the middle of his sentence. Sam scowled, then turned to Scott and Shuri.

All of this happened in the passing of a few seconds, after which almost every Avenger had a pissed off glare trained on Flash.

 _Uh oh,_  Peter thought.

In contrast, Thor beamed at Flash in that Immortal-All-Powerful-Golden-Retriever-like fashion of his. Flash puffed out his chest, looking actually kind of proud despite the dust from the boxing ring still smeared on his button-down.

That smile quickly faded into horror when the god boomed happily, “Is ‘Thomp’ a common first name on Midgard?”

”Wha–wait, what?”

“You introduced yourself as Flash, son of Thomp. Is ‘Thomp’ a common first name on Midgard?”

“No, no!” Flash looked horrified. “My father’s name isn’t ‘Thomp’. My last name is ‘Thompson.’”

”Son of Thomp.”

”Thompson!”

”I do not understand. Thomp is a perfectly noble name,” Thor informed Flash, clapping him on the shoulder. “Fit for only the best...” he looked at Flash’s dirty button-down, “streetsweepers. Or waste-haulers.”

Kids started snickering at Thor’s open, honestly bemused expression in juxtaposition to Flash’s horrified one.

”Yes, only the mightiest of waste-haulers!” Thor assured Flash.

“Don’t try to fight it,” Sam said, though his voice sounded stiff, frozen. Freeze dried, almost, like being courteous to Flash was simply a facade. “He won’t stop calling me ‘son of Wil’ no matter how hard I try. Apparently I’ll make a great bird-keeper.”

 _Oh god,_  Peter thought, staring at Sam’s murderous expression. At the red curling from Wanda’s fingers. What did Nat and Clint tell them?

Hadn’t it been enough for them to ambush him from the ceiling, or plop an oblivious god of thunder on top of his field trip?

When the group started up again, Thor walked with one huge, muscular arm around Flash, regaling him with stories of the greatest decays and wastes he had seen. 

“It was fantastic!” Thor bellowed. “Ymir decayed, and the Nine Worlds were created. Even the maggots became dwarves. You would be right at home.”

Flash looked about ready to blow up. In addition to the dirt smeared on his shirt, a lovely bruise the size of Natasha’s fist was beginning to form on his cheek in a lovely mosaic of yellows and blacks.

MJ sidled up to Peter with Ned close behind. “You good?”

”Hmm?”

”You just got slammed by the AVENGERS!” Ned squealed. Peter had no more energy to calm him down. “That looked so painful!”

”You sound excited for some reason,” Peter noticed, raising an eyebrow in his best friend’s direction. If his ribs had been hurtingfrom patrolling the night before, then after his fight with Clint and the unanticipated ambush they were toast. Disintegrated. Shattered beyond repair.

Not really. But they still hurt.

”Sorry, dude,” Ned sighed. “Are you okay?”

”Yeah—“

”I’m loving how Thor’s essentially calling Flash a piece of garbage,” MJ pointed out, looking more satisfied than Peter had even seen her look.

Peter nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sam waving him over. He made his way over with his friends tagging along. The moment Ned and MJ stepped into sight, the glares turned to them.

MJ held her head high while, in contrast, Ned shrank back.

”Guys,” Peter sighed to the Avengers. “They’re fine.”

Wanda still looked suspicious, but she moved aside to let MJ and Ned follow Peter. Then she stepped back into place.

Peter watched, a little bit delirious. This had gotten so out of control he couldn’t keep track of it.

First, Flash was a jerk. That was normal. Then he was slightly more of a jerk. Also completely normal.

Then Peter was stressing over a school trip. Slightly less normal. Then, Clint was slamming him into the floor, Natasha was making him punch stuff, Shuri was showing him tech, Bucky was shooting up crap, half the Avengers were jumping on top of him, and Thor arrived.

That wasn’t unusual or weird or crazy or mindblowing or any other adjectives that would’ve gotten him ten points in decathlon practice. This was Parker Luck in its purest form. Plain and simple.

”Umm, Pete?” Ned nudged him and he snapped back to reality.

 _Shit._  Ahead of them, Clint was signing something rapid-fire at the rest of the Avengers, and everyone was nodding along. Clint pointed at Bucky and signed something. Bucky nodded and peeled off seconds later, heading for the elevators.

”Uh,” Peter hesitated, jogging to keep up and feeling the way he did whenever he watched a silent movie. “What...?

Clint ignored him. Motioning at Nat, he signed _A-C_  and then made a beckoning motion, followed by a waving motion with his fingers. She split off next. 

Peter recognized that sign. It meant “air conditioning” and it was what Clint used as a shortcut for “ceiling vents.”

He did the same with almost all the Avengers, each one peeling off to do some unknown task.

To Sam: Peter caught “left”, “stop”, “catch”

To Wanda: “blast” (that didn’t bode well)

To Scott: “punch”, “groin”, “fist bump”

Wait, no. That was just a fist bump.

With each Avenger that left, Peter’s blood went a little colder. Finally, only Clint and Cap were left, signing back and forth rapid-fire, ignoring Peter, MJ, and Ned altogether.

”Hey,” Peter tried, raising his hand a little. The two blonde Avengers ignored him. “HEY!”

They turned.

”What the hell are you guys doing?”

 Clint just winked at him impishly and grinned as he reached over and ruffled Peter's hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like it. ANOTHER!!!  
> Again, not abandoning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there, like, a map of the ceiling vents? Seriously, how well does Clint know this place?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have overdone it.

Clint was a bastard, Peter decided. He was the biggest bastard in the history of bastards.

Look up “bastard” in the dictionary, and there would be a mug shot of Clint punching someone through a wall.

Oh, and also: Steve needed to die. Law abiding, do-gooder Captain America was _helping Clint._

“Remind me to do something after this,” Peter muttered to Ned, who had sidled so close to the two Avengers he was centimeters away from stepping on Cap’s heels.

Ned nodded. “Yeah?”

”I need to get an ASL book out of the library, complete with all the cuss words.”

“Okay.”

They exchanged a discreet fist bump before following the group.

Then, like someone had pulled a string on a Rube Goldberg machine, something much more pressing clicked in the front of Peter’s mind.

The idea-ball started rolling along hypothetical pulleys and springs, bouncing off of mental walls until a string yanked, dumping the equivalent of a metaphorical bucketful of ice-water directly on top of Peter’s head.

He froze.

He had missed something very, very important during the time he was busy being embarrassed by everyone, but _oh my god_  this was huge _._  And he was so, so stupid. 

His mind rewound like a tape all the way back to the lobby.

FRIDAY dissing Flash. In the labs, Shuri ignoring him completely, going out of her way to make sure everyone saw she knew Peter.

And the fighting ring.

When Flash said Emily, Natasha shouldn’t have gotten that pissed. Clint wouldn’t usually have challenged Peter to a frickin’ cage match.

Natasha wouldn’t have even looked twice at Flash’s hideous “babe” comment. He was so far below her it was funny, but she challenged him anyway.

Sam’s pissed off expression. The way they conveniently put Thor, the most oblivious person to ever exist, right in the group’s path. Wanda’s glowing hands. The secret ASL conversation with “blast” and “punch” and “Flash”.

Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? He’d convinced himself that they couldn’t know about him, that his secret was still a secret, and he was so worried about Flash outing him that he hadn’t even considered the other option.

It was so obvious.

_Everyone already effing knew._

Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. Chewed nails smudged with ink. MJ.

But this time his brain didn’t even register that her hand was on his arm and he should be turning red. But he wasn’t. It seemed...kinda trivial now.

”You alri—?” she started, but he cut her off.

”Uh-yeah, great. Gimme a, um, gimme a sec. Just-just gotta check—“

He ignored her stare boring a hole in his back as he tripped over his feet trying to get to Cap and Clint.

Well, only Clint now. Cap had peeled off to God-knows-where, probably in on the scheme that would surely ruin Peter’s life as he knew it. Forget the ASL book; Peter needed to get through today alive before even considering what was on his reading list next.

_Stupid stupid stupid stupid._

Peter reached Clint and grabbed his arm. The archer looked a little startled, but before he could do anything, Peter had dragged him aside.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ned and MJ waiting for him, but he made a shooing motion with his hand. MJ nudged Ned, who was still watching Peter and Clint, and the two moved on with the group, Thor and Trash, sorry, _Flash_ in the lead.

Peter turned back to find Clint staring at him with a raised eyebrow. His emotions roiled like a wave.

Without preamble, Peter hissed, “Dude, _what the hell?_ ”

 _“‘_ What the hell’ what?” Clint asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

”Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

”Knew what?”

Peter examined his expression. “You know what I’m talking about. About me being...”

Clint just looked at him blankly.

”...um, you do, right?”

More blank stare.

Maybe he was making a mistake maybe Clint really didn’t know. _Shit._  This was gonna be hell.

“Know about what, kid?”

Peter groaned. Had he really just inadvertently outed himself? Because that would be pathetic. Seriously pathetic. Facepalm pathetic. _Good job, Peter._

”About what, kid?” Clint pressed, looking at him with a concerned expression.

“Forget it.”

”Nope.” Clint grabbed his shoulders as Peter tried to spin around. Peter slapped his hand away, fury suddenly roiling in his stomach.

”Piss off.”

”Not a chance, kiddo.”

”I’m serious, Clint.

“I’m sure you are.”

”You can fu—“

”Language.”

”Oh shut up. You sound like Steve.”

“Mr. Perfection himself.”

A half smile crept its way onto Peter’s face before he stop it. Clint slapped him on the back so hard he almost lost his balance.

”There he is!” The archer grinned at him, then grew serious. “But really, Pete.”

”Fine.”

Dang peer pressure. He had no willpower. Zilch. Nil. None. “I—“

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He hadn’t had to come out to anyone since MJ. Clint was being the perfect model of “supportive friend/traitor”: upturned eyebrows in a concerned/worried expression.

It never got any easier.

 _And this is an Avenger,_  his traitorous brain whispered. He told his brain to piss off.

“I-I’m transgender,” he mumbled, feeling his hands shake as he said the words. Stupid hands. “I-I’m still Peter. Nothing’s changed. It means that—“

”I know what it means, kid.” Clint said shortly. Peter couldn’t tell his tone. Was he mad? Disturbed? Sad? Peter knew that there was a wide range of possible reactions.

He dared lift his gaze from his worn out sneakers, only to find Clint with an unsurprised look on his face.

Oh, man. This was even worse.

_The little shit..._

”You _knew_?” Peter couldn’t even bother to try cooling down. Outrage burned like lava, pooling in his stomach, running in his veins.

The lava turned to bitter, bitter acid when Clint bobbed his head in acknowledgement. He managed to swallow the burning in his throat enough to choke out, “How long have you known.”

Clint didn’t even have the decency enough to look ashamed. ”A while now.”

Peter jerked his arm away from Clint’s hand like it burned him. He rubbed the spot with his hand, trying to comprehend what Clint was saying.

His idols, his _friends_ , had pretended not to know his secret, had lied to him for over a year. Worse, they had sat by as he struggled silently without a parting word of comfort.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t had dysphoria at the Tower. It happened a lot, but until now he thought he’d been successfully passing it off as a migraine.

Turns out he didn’t know shit.

Maybe it was stupid to feel betrayed, since he had also lied to them for a while, but he couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice when he asked, ”Who else knows?”

Clint sighed. “Nat and I. Bucky suspects.”

 _Huh?_  That didn’t line up at all. “Wait, wh—b-but don’t the others know too?”

Clint looked just as confused as Peter felt, so Peter spluttered on.

”I-I just thought—well, you talked to them about Flash, and they got mad, so I thought—“

”Christ, Pete!” Clint sounded horrified. “You think I outed you to everyone?”

Peter nodded. His brain was wading through a swampy mist of total confusion. Thirty seconds ago he’d been, nervous, then pissed. Now he didn’t know what to feel.

Clint leaned forward. “I would _never_  do that. _Never._ ” He looked so earnest. And Peter felt so, so terrible.

Clint glared, and Peter glimpsed a tiny bit of what made him an Avenger. “Don’t you dare apologize. You hear. No apologizing coming out of your sorry ass.”

”But—“

”Nope.”

“Then do me a favor?”

Clint nodded.

“Call off the ambush.”

Clint sighed. “You caught that, huh?”

”Call it off Clint.”

”But the kid’s a dick, Pete!”

”Don’t tell me to watch my language. You cuss more than me.”

Clint ignored the jab. “He deserves it,” he said stubbornly, and Peter felt a tiny glint of gratitude underneath the mountainous wave of exasperation.

Clint stared at him. Peter stared back.

Crickets.

Then,

“Here’s the thing.”

_Did I just win a staring contest with an Avenger?_

“I’m really sorry about this...but I can’t”

“Bullshit.” Peter immediately broke his own two second long rule principle against cussing. Clint looked at him pointedly before continuing.

”Really, kid. I can’t.” He sounded genuinely apologetic. Peter watched as he tapped his ears. “See these. Normal hearing aids. No comms. So, no can do.”

Peter wasn’t buying it. “But there’s gotta be a way. Man, you’ve already beaten him to a pulp.”

”Really sorry kid.” Clint shook his head, and Peter knew it was a lost cause.

In other words, Peter was still going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Results, anyone?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash, I don’t know how to say this, buddy...but you kinda had this coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I kept you guys waiting. Here it is.  
> Also, just a note: I haven’t been replying to you guys’ comments, but it doesn’t mean I don’t read them. They mean the world to me. You all are so sweet.  
> So here’s a shout-out to all the incredible people who are taking their time to write up stuff for me. Thank you
> 
> (P.S. No f’s for Flash. He doesn’t deserve it.)

The group stopped outside an open door.

Peter already knew where he was. This was where he worked with Shuri when she visited, and with Mr. Stark and Doctor Banner for the rest of the time.

But even if he didn’t know where he was, the letters **LABORATORY**  engraved in the glass panels of the door were pretty self-explanatory.

“Welcome!” Thor boomed, “to the Avenger’s personal—“

”Thor!”

Thor stopped, looking disgruntled at being interrupted while everyone else craned their necks to see who it was.

Ned was bouncing up and down to see over people’s heads, using Peter’s shoulder as leverage before he slapped Ned’s hand off.

Not that he hit hard, but still: a little more than necessary. He could have just as easily asked Ned to stop, but he was still stinging a little from his conversation with Clint, who was suddenly suspiciously absent.

 _Nope._  Not thinking about that conversation. It never happened. He wasn’t going to acknowledge its existence

And he was in complete denial.

Out from the room came a curly-haired guy with thin-rimmed glasses and a lab coat draped around his small frame.

Without even acknowledging the group’s existence, Dr. Bruce Banner grabbed Thor by the arm and hissed something in his ear. He seemed a little pissed off.

Not mad, Peter hoped, because nobody, not even Ned, wanted to see that.

Peter himself had only seen it once. It was on a mission in Liverpool with the goal to subdue two rogue Inhumans that seemed hellbent on destroying the Mersey Gateway. 

When it became clear that one of the two had the ability to manipulate solid objects, including chunks of Liverpool, the team called in a Code Green, and _holy hell._

The good doctor had taken “angry” to the next level. Peter hadn’t been entirely sure that it even qualified as angry. More like a frenzied, apoplectic rampage that, if not for Nat’s lullaby, probably would’ve caused a lot more than just property damage.

Thor and Banner were having a heated discussion that began to taper when Thor put his hand on Banner’s shoulder, clearly explaining something to him.

Peter was pretty sure he could guess what it was.

Yep. Peter’s heart sank as he felt, for what felt like the billionth time, the sensation of having an Avenger’s eyes boring a hole in his skull.

He quickly averted his eyes, looking over to find Ned almost silently imploding.

”Dude,” he said, nudging the Ned Bomb. “Chill. It’s just Dr. Banner.”

”Just Dr. Banner?” Ned squealed. He sounded like he might be hyperventilating. “ _Just Dr. Banner?_ Are you out of your _mind?”_

“No,” Peter replied. “But I think you might be. Dude, calm down before he has to operate on you.”

MJ pressed her hand to Ned’s forehead like she was taking his temperature. Ned slapped her away with a very un-Nedlike scowl. “All right stop. I get it; I’m overreacting. Cut me some slack— _ohmygodhe’scomingoverhere!_ ”

The last part was said about an octave above normal as Ned’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

Peter spun around to find the good doctor approaching, shadowed by the towering profile of Thor the Happy Oblivious Puppy who just ruined Peter’s day.

”Pete?” Banner asked in that gentle, deceivingly unthreatening voice of his. He had bemused expression on his face.

 _Gaaaaaah_. Peter couldn’t ignore him, his childhood idol.

”Hey, Doc,” he muttered.

”What’re you doing here?” Banner looked around at the group. “I didn’t know you were touring today.”

”You know him too?” Abe hissed in Peter’s ear, looking mind-blown. Nobody else moved, just blinking and staring like little owlets all lined up in a row.

Banner turned around awkwardly, trying to look at everyone. “Umm, well—uh, are you the tour guide?”

Emmet had tried to camouflage himself into the group, but his height and lack of school uniform made him stick out like a sore thumb. He straightened a little. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“We weren’t really expecting a group today, and I kinda thought that tours weren’t allowed above a certain level...” Bruce looked pointedly at Thor who looked back, completely oblivious.

Bruce sighed, rubbing his face. “I hate to break it to you guys, but I don’t think I can let you past here. We haven’t, um, briefed Thor on the rules yet, so...I think I have to send you back down—

“That won’t be necessary.”

Several people screamed.

Peter whipped his head around. _Oh man._

Kids tripped over each other as Tony Stark himself made his way over from the door of the lab. Even in a grungy work shirt and jeans, he looked just as confident and suave as he did in a suit and cufflinks, walking through the group of panicking, hyperventilating teens like it was a red carpet.

Flash looked devastated as Mr. Stark walked right by him without even a glance in his direction, and Peter had to bite back a smirk.

Mr. Stark paused, however, when he got to Ned.

Raising an eyebrow he waved in Ned’s general direction. “Eddie, right?”

”Ned,” Ned whispered.

”Right. Something like that.” Then he moved on, leaving Ned to embody the very definition of the word “starstruck.” Ned looked like he had just seen a supernova in all of its glory.

Peter bit back another grin which quickly died a painful death when Mr. Stark reached them.

He walked up to Bruce.

The two “Science Bros” couldn’t be more far apart. They were both genius heroes, and both white guys around the same height, but that’s where the similarities stopped.

Mr. Stark went wild when he wasn’t in costume, partying and going to exotic destinations all around the world. Bruce was quieter, preferring to stay in the lab or in the Avenger’s living room.

The difference went further than that. If someone who had no idea who the two men were was dropped in a room with them, they would probably be able to notice the difference right away.

Tony Stark carried himself with a confidence that spoke of a lifetime in the limelight and an absolute assurance in his capabilities. When he spoke, people listened, because every word he said was infused with such certainty that it demanded your attention.

Bruce, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. Wherever he went, he slouched, shoulders curled inward as if he could hide in the folds of his baggy clothes.

Clint often complained that he couldn’t hear what the scientist was saying because he mumbled so much.

The billionaire clapped Bruce on the back. “It’s okay, buddy. They can come.”

”You knew about this?” Bruce asked incredulously.

”Sure I did. Genius, remember? Plus...”

Peter, who’d been shrinking further and further back into the group froze as Tony casually locked eyes with him and walked over.

”Hey, Pete.”

“H-Hey, Mister Stark.”

There had to be a way to create a pressurized plate or something that dropped an embarrassed person through the floor. Technology like that existed. Peter made a vow that if he survived this, the first thing he would do would be to design one of those.

Tony raised an eyebrow, ignoring the rising chatter, the speculations, and instead focused his attention on the way Peter was sidling back into the group.

”Well, don’t be a stranger,” he said at last.

Peter extracted himself from the Human Huddle and shuffled out into the open, hating his Parker Luck every second of it.

His face was red, wasn’t it? Fever hot and glowing red. Hot Rod Red.

Tony shot him a funny look before turning back to the group. Peter watched as he slipped back into his Iron Man persona, all snark and smirks.

Actually, that wasn’t unusual from the normal him.

He clapped to get everyone’s attention, ignoring the fact that everyone was already gawking at him like a bunch of fish.

”Right. So you know who I am, and I’ve got no clue who you are. And...yeah. Don’t really care. I’m only here because the kid’s with you. Try and keep up.”

He turned to Peter with an uncompromising stare. “You’re walking up front with me.”

Peter sighed and said, “Okay,” because what else was he going to say? He’d already been _willingly_  beaten to a pulp by Clint. It wasn’t like he had any willpower or anything.

Up at the front, Mr. Stark, by some miracle, managed to put some space between them and the group.

Resting his arm on Peter’s shoulders, he lowered his voice and asked, “So. What’s with the avoidance?”

”Huh?”

”You’re avoiding me. And I know that it’s been a month since you had the flu, so it’s not that. What’s the deal? Patrols? Aunt Hottie? Don’t tell me it’s another flying monster.”

”No, no, it’s not that.”

”Is that ass from school here?”

”Huh?”

”Don’t play that card. I know there’s an asshole that bullies you. I can just tell. It’s my magic trick.”

”Not your biggest one, though.”

”That goes without saying, but you’re avoiding my question. See? No more Whack-a-Mole.”

Peter grumbled and rubbed at his brow. Last night’s lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him, along with the pummeling on the streets, then Clint’s pummeling, then the dog pile, then Thor’s hug, and the day wasn’t even half over; his watch read 1:42.

”He doesn’t ‘bully’ me. He just says weird, vague crap that doesn’t really mean anything.” That was a lie, but he wasn’t about to tell Tony that. “Anyway, he’s had enough for one day.”

Mr. Stark’s eyes scanned over the group. “Define.”

”Nothing.”

”So someone slammed Ass-Clown in the dirt,” Tony guessed, completely defeating the point of hiding anything from him. He was like that sometimes: obnoxiously smart. “Wasn’t you.”

”Why wouldn’t it be me?” Peter felt kind of offended.

”You’re too nice on douchebags like that. Had to have been...” His eyes narrowed, then he looked hard at Peter. “Did one of the _team_ do that?”

Peter didn’t say anything, and Tony sighed. “Great,” he mumbled. “More lawsuits. Lemme guess: Manchurian Candidate?”

”Who?”

”Never mind. Was it Legolas?”

Peter knew that nickname all too well. “No, it wasn’t. And I’m not telling you.”

”Was it Widow?”

Silence.  _Thump, thump, thump_ went his stupid jittery heart.

“Great.” Tony’s voice was dry, toneless. Peter flinched for a second before Tony said, “What the hell did he do to you that made Super-Assassin flip?”

Peter blanched a little.

”Uh—“

_Chink._

Clank!

_“What the hell—!“_

See, the problem with Super-Assassins is that when you call their name, they’re suddenly there.

And by there meaning in the ceiling vent right above where the group was passing under.

Another thing about them? They’re expert hiders.

By the time Peter heard the _chink_  of boots against hollow metal, Natasha was already dropping from the ceiling.

Straight onto Flash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay, I’m going to bed.  
> By the way, how’d I do with Tony?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s an intern for a reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I’m so sorry for the wait, but I hit a HUGE writing wall. Like, Great Wall of China writing wall. I’m trying to now climb the wall, but let’s see.

_Bam!_

A high pitched squeal cut through the air as Flash toppled, Natasha right on top of him.

“Holy shit!” someone yelled as the room erupted with screams. Everyone scattered away from the splash zone, leaving a nice wide open circle that revealed Natasha crouching over Flash’s prone body.

”WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!” Charles yelled as he cowered behind a panicked Abe.

But Peter’s only thought was, _This can’t be happening._  Even Natasha wouldn’t go so far as to lash out at a citizen who wasn’t even asking for it. Anymore, at least.

From beside him, he heard Mr. Stark’s, “Romanoff, what the HELL?!”

Peter managed to untangle himself from Mr. Stark’s arm and scrambled away toward the assassin.

 _I’m going insane,_  he thought. _There is no way I’m actually thinking about doing this._

But if he was forced to pull Natasha off Flash, he would. And he could.

But to his surprise, Natasha started running right at him.

 _What the hell?_  He tripped backwards.

And she caught him.

 _Fzz. Fzzzzz._ Peter’s brain shorted out from all the mixed signals. He stared at Natasha in total confusion.

“Stark,” she barked, pushing Peter back to his own two feet. “There’s been a breach.”

That sounded serious. Honestly, he had no idea why it sounded serious, but it did. It’s what they said in old sci-fi movies when enemies blew stuff up and the heroes had to come up with weird plans.

It was kind of sad how much Peter’s life was starting to feel like _Star Wars._

No parents? Check.

Living with aunt or uncle? Check.

Badass mentor? Check.

Insane powers that are cause for every weird piece of crap that goes down, including battling powerful beings and Walkers on the snow planet Hoth? Check, check.

Sorry, _Ant-Man._  And it was in Germany, but whatever. Germany gets enough snow to be called a snow planet.

Peter looked at Mr. Stark, who had the look on his face of someone who just found a turd in their dessert. A really big turd.

”What’s the type?” he asked, visibly trying for nonchalant. “Giant flying alien related breach or government sized?”

“Tony, shut up for a second and take it seriously,” Natasha snapped. Her eyes sparked with impatience and urgency. “FRIDAY’s been compromised.”

Just like that, the lights shut off and they were plunged into darkness.

Two seconds later, a deafening wail shattered the air, nearly taking Peter’s eardrums with it.

Red lights flashed. Kids screamed. Mr. Harrington screamed. Emmet screamed.

Peter almost jumped to the ceiling by instinct before realizing that (a) that would do nobody any good, (b) it would give him away on so many levels he didn’t even want to think about it, and (c) the ceiling was too far up.

Peter had only seen this happen one time before, and, at the time, it had scared the ever-loving shit out of him, despite the fact that he‘d known it was a drill.

This was not a drill. This was very much not a drill.

It was like a TASER had been jabbed into his ribs; Tony jolted a little, eyes growing wide, then alert. He started forward. “Well, what the hell are we waiting for?”

Peter watched in amazement as Tony Stark transformed before his very eyes from a snarky, genius engineer (genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, as he liked to put it) to the man that took world-changing technology, and, instead of using it to make millions more, built a suit of armor so he could risk his life regularly to save people.

 _This_  was Peter’s hero.

”Get everyone to the crypt,” Tony barked, and Nat nodded. “Use the stairs; we can’t rely on the elevators. Where’s the tech team?”

”In the control room,” Nat answered as she herded the group toward the stairs. 

”What the hell’s ‘the crypt?’” Flash asked. Everyone ignored him. They were too busy panicking. And it wasn’t the kind of panic that had happened earlier, all stumbling and nerd-gasms; this was quiet, frozen panic. The kind of panic that placed all the weight of responsibility on authorities.

Peter was bumped along from all sides as they all scrambled to get to the stairs first. Inside he was going completely nuts. He was _Spider-Man._  He should be up there helping the Avengers, not waiting passively as people could be put in danger. Instead, he was shuffled along compliantly like a sheep, unable to do anything that might give him away.

For the first time that day, he wanted, just a little bit, to be noticed. Maybe then he could help. But how?

”Shuri’s already there with a couple of the staff,” Natasha updated as Tony started for the stairs. “She’s got a few interns there with her, but the system’s gone completely haywire. Outside force, we think.”

“Bruce,” Tony shouted, but Bruce was already running toward him, shoving on his glasses. “Get down to the control room; I’ll meet you there.”

Bruce turned and ran to the stairs without another word. Natasha watched him go, worry replacing her usually closely guarded expression.  Then, she seemed to snap out of it a little. Maybe the horrified school group staring at her did it. Peter suspected it was kind of second nature to her now to protect the people after having done it for so long.

“It’s fine, guys,” she said, putting a reassuring smile on. “Follow me. If you want to know, this sort of thing happens all the time. Mostly it’s drills and such. And we’re not going to an actual crypt,” she continued, nodding at Flash, who looked startled that she wasn’t glaring at him. “Stark just likes to call it that for reasons nobody else knows.”

It was obvious she was just saying that to make them feel better, but she sounded so confident, so in control, it made you want to just rely on her to get you out of there. If he hadn’t known any better, Peter would’ve fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

But he did know better. And he almost wished he didn’t.

Nothing like this had happened at the Tower in all the times that he’d visited. As far as he knew, nothing like this had _ever_  happened. Unprecedented things were not good, in his experience.

And he was fairly sure that if shit went down, and it very well might, Nat could do nothing except hope that Midtown students were more durable than others.

”Pete!”

His head shot up so fast if felt like whiplash. Mr. Stark was waving at him over impatiently.

”Kid, we don’t have all day.”

”Wha—?”

”We need all interns on deck! Now!”

Hope blossomed in Peter’s chest. Would this be his chance to help?

He scrambled through the crowd, almost tripping over Flash’s outstretched foot. When he reached Mr. Stark, the older man grabbed his arm. “Come on, kid. We gotta go!”

The stairwell door-hinge screamed as they barreled through behind the group, racing to the control room.

 

_“Hello? Hey, assholes! Do you copy? We’re chill with you. Hold your fire, damnit! This is the Milano—crap, is my universal translator working? Guys, cut it out—“_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update TOMORROW. Promise. I just ran out of time.  
> I’m so sorry guys. Great Wall got me.  
> Tell me, did I get to the other side of the wall? Or is it worse?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bogey spotted....  
> “ATTENTION ALL IDIOTS!”  
> We all love Rocket, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guysguysguysguysguys.......I don’t deserve you all. You all are amazing.  
> I promised to update...and ran out of time again. I’m kinda slammed right now. will update, but can’t promise when.  
> It might take awhile.  
> NOT ABANDONING.  
> Just taking a bit longer.

Avengers Tower was a masterpiece of architecture; there was no doubt about it. With its soaring spires and metal framed windows clambering into the sky, it stood out against New York’s geometric skyline.

And it was _tall_. Like, really really tall. Taller than most of the buildings around it, with a fantastic jet landing pad on the outside. StarkTech coated every inch of it.

Only when that StarkTech stopped working did Peter realize just how tall the Tower was.

Too tall to scale using emergency stairs. _Way_  too tall. It would be faster to build a slide that got everyone to the ground. By the time Tony and Peter reached the control room, Peter’s shirt was soaked with sweat, despite his crazy fast metabolism (which was working overtime like a chainsaw).

Tony slammed open the double doors without hesitation, barging through to who knew what, but Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to. Yet.

Looking back over his shoulder, he watched as the school group half fell, half stumbled down the stairs after Natasha, who was looking a little out of breath herself. Even Flash didn’t have enough air to grumble about the situation, though he looked like he wanted to. The glare he shot Peter’s way was legendary, full of loud subtexts and poisonous threats.

Ned and MJ were bringing up the tail.

_Get a bunch of nerds to do stairs with the world’s most badass personal trainer._

But he felt kind of guilty for going off while they hid in the basement from a possible apocalypse.

 _They’ll be fine,_  he told himself. It didn’t help.

Ned caught his eye and waved him away. “Dude, GO! Iron Man’s waiting.”

”You’re right about that.” Tony popped his head back through the doors. “Kid, why the hell are you still out here? We got a bogey on the radar.”

”O-Okay, uh, coming!”

He scrambled after Mr. Stark, through the magical double doors and into—

...

” _GET OUT OF THE WAY!!”_

_Bam!_

...

“ _Radio’s on the fritz! 13, you got anything?”_

_”Negative!”_

...

” _Get the translator down here.”_

_”This ain’t Spanish, I know that.”_

_..._

_”Q-U-I-L-L...Is that weapon?”_

_..._

Holy.

Hell.

The room should’ve been cool. Under any other circumstance (he was saying that a lot, wasn’t he?) it would’ve been thebomb.com.

Okay, maybe not. That was cringey. Wipe that. But the room was beyond cool.

Imagine one of those NASA control rooms from movies. Then add StarkTech all around. Then paste holograms everywhere: floor, ceiling, soaring walls that met at the top to form an enormous dome. It was like standing in a giant, tech-driven egg. A giant, tech-driven egg in the middle of a war-zone.

And Peter had thought Midtown was wild.

The flashing lights only emphasized the chaos. A booming voice sounded over the intercom, echoing around, almost drowning out the din of dozens of people trying to fix ten billion problems.

_Where was Tony?_

Peter had no clue. Every time a tech rushed by, he was slammed around by someone wearing a headset, holding a clipboard. He even caught a dude smacking his cellphone against the wall, trying to get it to work.

_Not gonna work, buddy._

And neither was Peter’s brain, apparently. He watched the room slide in and out of focus. He rubbed his temples as the pounding in his brain pulsated like dubstep on steroids.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, sane piece of consciousness was screaming, _Find one of the Avengers, dumbass!_ but Sane Peter was quickly losing his battle.

Everything was so _loud_.

And _bright._

His knees buckled underneath him, and wow, the floor was a lot closer than he thought.

A hand on his shoulders caught him before he toppled. ”Kid!”

 _Mr. Stark,_  he thought with relief. But it wasn’t. A big woman with bright, dyed-ginger hair had her hands on his shoulders.

”Where’s your group?” she shouted over the noise.

 _Whaaat?_ He looked at her blankly, barely comprehending.

”Your group?” she repeated, looking closer at him. “Your tour group. Where are they?”

”I’m not—“ He looked down. _Damnit._ Stupid visitor name tag. “They’re—“

 _”_ All right,” she said. Well, shouted, really. “My name’s Sonya, okay, hon? I’m gonna get you with your people. Just give me a quick sec.”

”I’m not with—“ Peter tried again, desperately, but she was already shouting into her walkie-talkie.

In Peter’s time as an intern, the intern’s walkie-talkies weren’t always used appropriately. They were kinda fun to goof around on, to be honest. He and Shuri sometimes pranked each other using them, causing mass havoc.

”—yeah, yeah, yeah. I got a kid here. Name’s—“ she grabbed him and squinted at his cursed name tag. “Pete-uh-Peter Parker? Midtown?”

Pause. 

“That’s him. He’s—“ Her eyes grew wide as dinner plates. “You’re kidding me, right? _Him? Stark?_ ”

Sonya rubbed her forehead and mumbled something that sounded like, “Oh, boy, Sonya. Get a grip. First day at Control. Get a grip.”

First day? He felt kinda bad for her, but, though he hated to admit it, the migraine developing behind his eyes was taking a bit of the sympathy away from her and to himself. The alarm blared on and on, boring a veritable hole in Peter’s skull.

He slammed his hands over his ears. It didn’t do much for the noise, but the pressure gave him something else other than noise to focus on. He squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of flashing lights.

“Kid?”

_Shut up._

“Kid!” Someone shook him hard, and his eyes flew open.

”Mister Stark.” His knees almost buckled again from relief.

”Whoa, whoa, hey.” The billionaire caught Peter. Man, he was starting to feel like the Disney princesses Shuri talked about, only no high-heels. “Can’t have you passing out on me. Here, put these on.”

A headset was shoved into Peter’s hands, all big and clunky, unlike the sleek, in the ear comms that the Avengers wore. He stared at it for a moment, then jammed it on.

The volume went from about a 19 out of 10 to a 3 in two seconds flat.

Looking up, he saw Mr. Stark donning a similar, sci-fi-movie-esque headset. When he saw Peter looking his way, Tony gave a thumbs-up.

”You good?” Tony’s voice blared through the headphones, and Peter saw the little microphone attached to the headband. Embarrassed, Peter pulled his own microphone down to his mouth.

Seeing his reaction, Tony clapped Peter on the shoulder. ”Don’t be embarrassed, kid. It’s loud for everyone at first. Our Control’s uncontrollable. And this...” he gestured around at the veritable tsunami of people, “is not a typical day.”

”I guessed,” Peter mumbled, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

Then he remembered Sonya, who was standing a little ways off from them, mouth agape. Mr. Stark followed Peter’s gaze, and grinned at Sonya.

He walked over and clapped her on the shoulder, flashing that billion dollar smile. “Thanks for helping me find the kid.”

Sonya squeaked a little before darting away.

Peter could totally relate. The surreality of meeting Mr. Stark for the first time was absolutely mind-blowing.

“Tony!” a voice shouted, and Peter’s head snapped right. Dr. Banner.

The doctor ran towards them, pushing through the crowd as he went. Not that he needed to all that much; the interns and staff parted around him like the Red Sea.

”Whaddya need, buddy?”

”We got a situation.”

”Yeah, that I know.” Tony waved his hand impatiently. “Feel free to elaborate.”

”The signal’s all messed up for our satellites. We can’t get ahold of them.”

Tony turned to Peter, and his heart lifted. “Pete, go help the Doc. I’ll deal with FRIDAY.”

"O-Okay.”

Dr. Banner led him through the crowd to a massive display screen with buttons and dials and all sorts of tempting gadgets that could probably blow up the whole world.

”We got an issue in the codes,” said the doctor, fidgeting with his collar.

Peter sat down.

_Okay, Pete. Get it together._

He tapped on one of the code brackets, and found a scrambled mess inside.

But he knew how to fix it. It wasn’t beyond repair.

Yeah. He could get used to this.

***

Peter was right about one thing: nobody was at all prepared for this. This was not in the brochure or in the terms of employment agreement.

Once or twice, he caught the eye of Shuri, who waved him over for help with some programming glitch or another, but most of the time he was running around, trying to meet expectations of the world’s most elite/stressed tech team ever.

It was weird, but also awesome in a terrifying way.

The headphones turned out to be way more high tech than Peter had originally given them credit for. They were actually pretty sweet.

For starters, it had about a billion different frequencies, each holding separate conversations. So, if someone from Communications wanted to contact somone all the way across the room without bothering the other sixty-something people connected, they could send a signal to only that specific person, getting them on an unoccupied frequency.

Peter first found this out as he sprinted through the sea of employees. Slamming on random buttons, he managed to page Shuri through.

Luckily for him, since the coding encryption was practically gibberish to him. Shuri, on the other hand, activated her hidden super-powers and solved the problem in about five seconds flat.

But right as it was looking like they might be able to repair the tear in the security system, Parker Luck (and stupid reality) decided that it’d had enough.

_Crackle._

_BEEEEEEEEEEEEP—_

Half the staff winced at the shrill scream. Peter clawed at his headphones, about to tear them off, when, out of the static, came a voice.

He froze, along with the rest of the room. It was eerie, all that action reduced to nothing. Like everyone had been turned to stone.

“..... _ya big turd-blossoms! Hold your frickin’ fire! We’re not hostiles! This is the Milano, and we come in peace, and — THE HELL, DUDE?! I said, HOLD YOUR FIRE!”_

“The feds are on the scene!” someone barked.

_Crash!_

That was the sound of Peter’s brain giving up. The whole dome went into an uproar, but all he could focus on was Natasha’s screaming at him from the headset.

”PARKER! STARK! GET YOUR ASSES UP HERE! NOW!”

Out of nowhere, somebody grabbed his arm and started dragging him to the exit. When he looked, he saw Bruce Banner, mouth set in a grim line.

”Doc, what’s going on?”

”We’re trying to stop an interplanetary catastrophe, Peter,” the good doctor responded. “And we’re meeting upstairs before we do.”

”Upstairs as in the Avengers Meeting Room Upstairs, or another-control-room-I-didn’t-know-about Upstairs?”

”The Meeting Room, Peter.”

”How—“ Peter stumbled over a jut in the floor, trying to keep pace with Banner. “I can’t do that, sir. Wh-what would I do, other than get in the way?”

Bruce paused for a second. A look of confusion flitted across his face. “Peter, what the hell are you talking about?”

The deep seed of forboding that had planted itself in Peter’s gut from the time he got on the bus was blossoming into a full on Terror Flower, complete with glossy leaves and petals full of dread.

Topping it all off was Bruce’s next words.

“Peter, you’re gonna help us as Spider-Man. _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Won’t abandon. Promise.  
> And for anybody who’s seen the movie, please don’t spoil. I’m going as soon as I can.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amazing Spider-Man—wait. Wrong universe.  
> Just Spider-Man.
> 
> Peter and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this chapter was fun...then it wasn’t because everything got deleted and I had to rewrite the whole frickin’ thing from memory.

As much of a geek and science-driven person as Peter was, he had a theory that had yet to be disproven.

His theory? Somewhere on the existential plane of Insanity there was a Peter Parker hating hole in the space time continuum.

It was like when he found a really good TV show and decided to watch the first season, only to look up a few moments later to see two whole hours had passed. Or when decathlon practice sucked because Flash-reasons, and instead of taking the normal allotted class period, it had lasted an eternity.

Today, the rip in reality decided to take the usually grueling task of stairs, and cut the time in half.

_But that’s a good thing!_

No, it wasn’t.

Peter would give up all of his possessions for that little pocket of time to stretch and elongate for eternity. The universe seriously couldn’t expect him to wrap his head around fighting _aliens_  in the time it took to get from Control to the Meeting Room.

But Tony Stark disagreed, so the whole universe disagreed.

Because logic.

Peter wasn’t a huge fan of logic right now. It wasn’t in his favor.

“Kid!” Mr. Stark shouted as he ran up the stairs. “Get your head back in it! We need you with us.”

Wait, why was he thinking like this? Mr. Stark was right. He could practically hear Ned’s voice echoing around in his head, “ _Dude! Snap out of it! Why are you pouting? This is...This is insane! You are so lucky.”_

Peter was lucky. Sometimes. But more importantly: he was Spider-Man, a superhero.

Flash was getting into his head.

And the part of him that signed onto the team was insanely excited. The last alien invasion, New York’s Finest teamed up and beat the snot out of giant worms falling from the sky. Peter had watched, awestruck and terrified. This time around, Peter was going to be swinging into this, side by side with the heroes. It was his turn.

There was only one teensy problem.

He froze at the top of the stairs. Ahead of him, Mr. Stark turned around, not even bothering to hide his exasperated expression.

”My suit’s at home,” he mumbled.

”What?”

”My suit’s at home,” he said again. This was a legendary face-palm if there ever was one. Calling the Guinness Book of World Records? We have the biggest face-palm to date here at Avengers Tower.

Mr. Stark paused, before shrugging. “That’s an easy fix.”

Then he turned and ran through the doors. Bruce followed him, and Peter tailed the two, confused. _Easy fix?_

***

Ten minutes later, the world was good again.

It was taking all of Peter’s willpower not to skip around the room in a giggly hysteria because OHMYGOD, the glorious masterpiece of a suit that was set out before him was his.

Mr. Stark was smirking, but damnit, Peter didn’t care. This was the suit that Peter had seen during his pop quiz/test after the whole Vulture incident, and he’d given up all hope of ever seeing it again.

But here it was, all shiny and sleek and new.

And his.

Well, Mr. Stark’s really, but still. He got to use it for a few minutes and that would be awesome.

”Great, now put it on, kid.” 

Peter waited for an awkward moment, but when Mr. Stark showed no signs of leaving, he swallowed hard. “Uh, now?”

Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow at him. “Uh....yep. That’s the plan. When else?”

Crap. This wasn’t cool.

 _Think, damnit!_  “I...don’t know how?” _No, not like that!_  He winced.

But if Mr. Stark was weirded out, he didn’t show it. He just nodded in understanding.

”Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Nanotech. Just gotta—“ He hit something, and the suit folded in on itself like a inter-dimensional taco, until it resembled something the shape of a Coca-Cola can, but way smaller and key-sized. Peter stared, a breathless “whoa” escaping his mouth without his meaning to.

He stared until he realized Tony was holding it out to him. He grabbed it, almost fumbling and dropping it to the floor.

“It goes over your clothes,” Mr. Stark explained. Peter had just enough time to be relieved before his mentor hit something on the capsule.

It felt like a bucket of water had been dumped over him, the way the cool metal washed from the cylinder. He watched as it crawled down his torso, his legs, the colored metal scales layering over each other seamlessly to create...armor. Mr. Stark had built him not just a suit, but suit of protective armor like his own.

The nanotech worked fast, spreading to every centimeter of his body, covering his clothes until it closed over his head. The lenses over his eyes whirred as he focused on a beaming Mr. Stark.

The smile vanished the moment Tony realized Peter was looking at him, returning to his Stern Mentor Face, but Peter knew he hadn’t imagined it.

“Right.” The billionaire nodded.

 

Peter tried to ignore how similar Mr. Stark’s suit-up was to his, but it was obvious from the way the nanotech formed around him that he had modeled Peter’s armor after his own. He probably spent the same amount of time on both, which was cool, but also kind of sweet of him.

A warm feeling kindled in his chest, and it was only strengthened when Mr. Stark clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get to the Room.”

***

Peter’s last run in with the feds at the Washington Monument hadn’t exactly gone well. Having police on his tail was one thing. Having military on his tail was another. So, even though it could end in an interplanetary catastrophe, it was weirdly comforting to have the guns not aimed at him.

All the Avengers headed for the landing pad where the action was happening. Or not happening. As it turned out nothing had gone down that badly so far. A few warning shots fired, but mostly people were just yelling at each other, like a really bad sky traffic-jam.

No guns, no lasers, no wormholes (thankfully). Just a giant alien spaceship hovering above the New York City skyline, surrounded by government helicopters.

And a screaming guy.

A screaming guy standing on top of the space ship, heedless of the fact that he was _splat-_ number of stories above the ground. Peter really hoped the wind wasn’t strong today, otherwise the Avengers parking lot was about to become Area 51.

The new suit was incredible. He had no doubt there were tons of cool special effects yet to be used.

Best of all, Karen got transferred.

” _Would you like me dim the lenses for you?”_  she asked.

”Uh, yeah, sure.” Now that she mentioned it, the glare of all the helicopters and the metal walls was pretty bright.

One swing and he landed a safe distance away from the landing pad edge. Close enough to see what was going on, far enough away that he wouldn’t pull an Emperor Palpatine in _Return of the Jedi_. Minus the explosion.

Who knew? With that much nanotech, he _might_  just explode.

The lenses on his mask zoomed in as Tony, Sam, Vision and Rhodey (when did he show up?) went to intervene.

He could hear the guy yelling. 

“DUDE! CHILL, ‘KAY? WE COOL?”

The weirdest part? The guy didn’t even look like an alien. Granted, he did have a belt with weird guns on it and some techno-looking pants that reminded Peter of Bucky, but other than that he looked like a regular guy.

A really crazy regular guy, but a guy.

His compadres on the other hand...

To make it simple: one was green, one was Christmas colored, one was a tree, and one was a raccoon wearing space-y overalls.

”Nope,” Tony said. “Not ‘till we figure this out. Who are you?”

”My name is Peter Quill. You might know me as Star-Lord.” The guy held his hands up away from his guns. “And I’m the only thing between you guys and my friends ripping this place apart.”

Peter tapped Clint on the shoulder.

”This would be a fun time to point out that we share names,” Peter mumbled, “but probably not the most helpful.”

Clint just shook his head. The moment he arrived in the Meetings Room, all humor had gone flying out the window. Possibly because the EMP wave from the ship had knocked out his hearing aids as well.

He got backups run by batteries, but his ones with comms were on the fritz.

Yeah. He’d been wearing the ones with comms when they had their little sit down. He totally could’ve called off the ambush, but he didn’t.

Now wasn’t the best time to bring it up though. Clint looked like he wanted to shoot something.

Which never ended well.

”That’s not reassuring,” Tony commented, answering Quill’s last statement. “Tell me right now why we shouldn’t let the feds on you.”

”Because I’m human,” was Star-Guy’s response. “I was born here.”

”Define here.”

”Dude, will you PLEASE let us land? I’m standing a billion microbules above solid ground and I really need you guys’ help. Like, immediately.”

Tony looked at Rhodey, who looked at the feds, who looked at Sam. They obviously had some sort of conversation before Tony sighed.

”Fine,” he muttered. “You can land. Just don’t hit one of us.”

”Thank you.” Star-Guy climbed back into the ship, and Peter turned to Wanda.

”Whaddya reckon he’s actually from Earth?” he asked.

”Not sure. He speaks English.”

”Maybe they speak English in space as well as other languages.”

Wanda shot him a skeptical look. “I don’t know Peter.”

The ship touched down. The glass opened.

“Looks like we have guests. If they don’t kill us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that’s over. And it was actually fun in the end.  
> Just time-consuming.


End file.
